


Romanoff's Anatomy

by remy71923



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family Drama, Family Fluff, Gen, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:13:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 249,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21754312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remy71923/pseuds/remy71923
Summary: Natasha Romanoff, a full-time neurosurgeon and a single mother to a little toddler, has just gotten back to her feet and back to her normal flow of life after everything that has happened in her life. But then a certain someone who had long become a stranger to her and her daughter's lives had come back, and the tables in her life have all turned and she feels like she's back at square one. Will she able to get back on her own feet once more, especially as the stranger decided he was done running?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Natasha Romanov, Sharon Carter & Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 450
Kudos: 864





	1. Typical Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning, as it may include certain medical inconsistencies since I'm not a doctor, but I try my best to research as much as I can. Enjoy!

“Mommy, wakey.”

The corner of Natasha’s lips turn upward into a small smile when she hears that soft and melodious voice whisper in her ear. She wrinkles her nose when she feels a small hand tap her on the cheek, a small giggle following after. It’s silly, how, after days and days of experiencing the same thing over and over again, this simple act that wakes her up every morning still makes her heart flutter. Over time in her life, she had learned to never take things in life for granted, and this is for sure of the many things about the owner of the soft and small giggles that she will _never_ learn to take for granted.

“Mommy, wakey.” The little girl practically whines, laughter lacing in her small voice, just as Natasha pulls her small body closer to her, and she giggles just as Natasha starts pressing soft kisses on her face. Even without opening her eyes, Natasha can imagine her beautiful smile as she listens to her soft laughter.

It’s the most wonderful thing to wake up to.

Natasha opens her eyes as she pulls away from the little girl slowly, and the toddler falls back on the pillow beside her mother’s, grinning up at her. Natasha chuckles, pressing a soft kiss on the girl’s blonde hair.

“What’s got my little girl up so early again?” she asks softly, smiling as the toddler laughs softly. She knows it's part of the routine, but she likes hearing her daughter say it for herself.

“Doctors wake early!” the toddler exclaims, and Natasha grins.

“You a doctor too, hm?” she asks, pressing a kiss on the girl’s cheek as she scoops her in her arms, cradling her close to her chest, and the little girl hums, leaning forward to rub her nose against her mother’s as Natasha smiles. “Gonna be a doctor like Mommy when you grow up?”

“Yeah, yeah!” she responds excitedly, and Natasha chuckles, pressing another kiss on the tip of her nose.

“Thank you for waking Mommy early.” she says softly.

It’s not new—her little girl waking her up very early in the morning just in time for her to wake up for work, but she likes saying thank you nonetheless, if it’s something that would put a smile on her toddler’s face. She somehow serves as Natasha’s alarm clock, with Natasha waking up to her little girl’s whispers asking her to wake up just in time for her to prepare before her shift starts. It’s a hit and miss thing, as sometimes her little girl wakes her up too early for her liking and, God forbid, _other_ times, her little girl wakes her up a little later than necessary (and she oversleeps which is _totally_ Natasha's own fault) , while on other times, she wakes up earlier than her toddler. But even then, she doesn’t use an alarm clock, or doesn’t set an alarm in her phone to wake her up, because she _likes_ it when her daughter’s voice is the first thing she hears, and her face is the first thing she sees when she wakes up.

Besides, her little girl’s body clock adapts quickly too. They haven’t had a single early-slash-late waking stint in the last three weeks, all without an alarm clock, and she’s pretty damn proud of it.

Natasha stretches, just as the little girl rolls of her mother’s arms and lays down on the bed as she stretches for herself too. When she gets up, the little girl extends her arms so her mother can pick her up, and they have breakfast together, just like any other typical morning routine. Natasha will make toast for herself, while she prepares the toddler’s bowl of cereals too. The toddler will babble about her dream and usually about her previous day in daycare too, and Natasha will listen attentively, ask questions and ask her daughter to continue too. They will eat breakfast together like that, Natasha with her cup of coffee and toast, and her toddler with her own bowl of cereal, over stories, laughter and affectionate cuddles and kisses usually initiated by the toddler to her mother.

She’s sweet like that, and it makes Natasha’s mornings even brighter before it even officially starts.

Natasha would bathe her, and they would play with the toddler’s rubber duckies and dolls in the tub, but she will be quick to remind the toddler that doctors should never be late, so even if they’re in the middle of their game with her daughter about to proceed to the climax of the story where the rubber ducky saves the princess doll, the little girl would obey her mother when she tells her that playtime is over. Her toddler is not a difficult one, even at two-and-a-half years old, she’s a smart little girl who understands and appreciates what her mother does for living. It's a bonus that she's pretty obedient too, which means life is less difficult for Natasha as a mother. And so Natasha would dry themselves, and dress up just in time to give them a half-hour travel time from her apartment to the hospital she works in, which is only really just a fifteen-minute drive, but she doesn’t like to rush.

They would sing along to Disney songs requested by her daughter, as she sits in the back buckled in her carseat, and Natasha drives through the usual Manhattan traffic. Natasha would smile at her daughter’s small giggles and laughter every time they would finish a song, and would indulge her when the toddler would request a repetition of the same song they had just listened and sang along too. They would really only reach up to five songs at most, most of which would be comprised of a three-time repetition of one song, and a two-time repetition of another, but it’s not something Natasha would complain about. She would usually find herself singing those songs to herself in the operating room while in surgery, or even while filling up charts, but it’s fine. It reminds her of her daughter’s soft voice and melodious laughter, and it would be enough to make a rough day brighter.

That’s a typical morning for Natasha Romanoff, a thirty-three-year-old attending neurosurgeon at the SHIELD New York Hospital in Manhattan, and a single mother to a two-and-a-half-year-old beautiful toddler, Sarah Romanoff-Rogers.

She parks in her usual spot, and turns the engine off. She looks back at her daughter. “Ready for another day, little love?” she asks, and Sarah nods excitedly and enthusiastically that it’s almost hard to believe she doesn’t do this everyday. _Oh the joys of being young._

“Will Auntie Wanda be there?” she asks, and Natasha smiles.

“Auntie Wanda and I have work to do, but maybe we’ll see her before we go up to daycare.” Natasha assures her, and the toddler squeals as Natasha chuckles softly. She mentally notes of her schedule, and remembers that she has a surgery with Wanda in the morning, so _perhaps_ her daughter might see her favorite resident by the surgical floor when Natasha drops her things off.

Natasha grabs her things and unbuckles her daughter, scooping her in her arms as she presses a kiss on her daughter’s blonde hair. Sarah wiggles in her mother’s arms, and Natasha puts her down, holding her hand as they enter the hospital together.

Sarah smiles and greets everyone she recognizes: from guards to nurses to doctors, effectively putting a smile on everyone’s faces including Natasha. When they get in the surgical floor, Sarah gasps when she sees Wanda in her scrubs filling in some charts, as the brunette turns and around and grins when she sees Sarah.

“Auntie Wanda!” Sarah exclaims, as Natasha lets her daughter’s hand go so she can run off the short distance between the elevator and the nurse’s station where Natasha’s resident is. Wanda scoops Sarah in her arms and embraces her closely.

“How’s our little doctor doing?” she asks softly, and Sarah giggles, wrapping her arms around Wanda’s neck and burying her face in her long wavy hair. She’s always been close, Sarah and Wanda, always has been since she was born. Ever since Wanda had dedicated herself to be under Natasha’s wing, she and Natasha had developed a close sisterly friendship outside of their professional one, so it’s no wonder that Natasha’s daughter would be close to Wanda too as she had practically been raised around Wanda too.

“She wants to see her Auntie Wanda before going up to daycare,” Natasha says, and Wanda turns and smiles as Natasha rests her bag on the counter, nodding as a nurse gives her some reports and charts. “Figured you’d need a little bit of a breather too since we’re about to have a long day.”

Wanda hums. “Would be surprised if we wouldn’t. Typical neuro stuff,” she says, and she faces Sarah again. “You’re just what I need to get through my and your Mommy’s surgery.”

“Will you save someone, Auntie Wanda?” Sarah asks in a small voice, and Wanda nods.

“Your Mommy and I have lots of lives to save today,” she says. “And you’re _just_ the right amount of energizer we need so we can survive a tiring day.”

“Is that my favorite little girl’s voice?”

Natasha turns and sees Bucky, in his scrubs and white coat walk over to the counter, surrendering a binder over to one of the nurses who retrieve it back from him. Sarah squeals and extends her arms over to Bucky who takes the little girl and presses a kiss on her cheek. Natasha smiles at him. “Knew I heard your voice from the attendings' lounge, could hear it from far away.” he says.

“Is my little princess’ voice a little loud?” Natasha asks, grabbing her bag and the reports and walking over to Bucky. She smiles and leans to press a kiss on Sarah’s cheek, and she giggles.

“That, or we’re just a little too sensitive in hearing a certain little girl’s bright and bubbly voice,” Bucky responds, pressing a kiss on Sarah’s hair. “Saw your name on the board, you and Maximoff have surgery in an hour?”

“We sure do,” Natasha says, and she looks at Bucky. “Slow day today?”

“Got nothing but monitoring,” he says, smirking. “If you need some ortho consult with your cases, come hit me up.”

Natasha grins. Bucky is an orthopedic attending surgeon, one of her closest friends and co-workers too. It had been weird—their friendship, because of his history of tight friendship with Natasha’s ex-lover and Sarah’s father, but he had stuck by Natasha’s side when _he_ hadn’t, and because of that, Natasha will forever be grateful for him. Besides, Sarah adores her Uncle Bucky, since he’s also pretty much one of the most consistent figures in the young girl’s life who takes turns with the others in playing with her and taking care of her should Natasha be stuck in a long grueling surgery.

“I don’t think we need one, though, unless you can put in some ortho consult in arteriovenous malformations mixed with aneurysmal expansion, we could _surely_ use more hands.” Natasha explains, and Bucky grimaces.

“That surgery sounds long.” he comments, and Natasha hums, smoothing Sarah’s cheek while she plays with Bucky’s shirt collars.

“She’s counting on it,” Wanda says, and Natasha looks at her, smiling as she winks at the resident. Wanda chuckles. “Just gonna grab some coffee from the lounge. Will be back once you bring Sarah to daycare.”

Natasha nods, just as Wanda walks over to press a kiss on the toddler’s cheek. “See you later, peanut.”

“Bye bye, Auntie Wanda!” Sarah exclaims, waving her hand, as Wanda chuckles and waves back as she walks off to the residents' lounge. Bucky looks back and ensures Wanda is out of earshot before turning back to Sarah. He smooths her blonde wavy hair and smiles when Sarah looks up at him.

“Looking more and more like you everyday,” he comments quietly, and Natasha gives him a small smile. “Except for the blonde.”

“The blonde’s from him, for sure,” she responds quietly, and Bucky gives her a sad smile, as Natasha rubs her nose against Sarah’s soft cheek. “You have any news on him?” Bucky snorts.

“If I did, would you wanna hear it?”

“Just making sure he’s not dead or something,” she says, shrugging, just as Bucky smirks, and Natasha sighs. “If you did, I didn’t wanna hear it.”

“You, me, and the rest of our friends combined,” Bucky says, and Natasha smirks. “I could bring her up to daycare if you wanna go prep for surgery and stuff.”

“Coming up with an excuse to kidnap my daughter again, Barnes?” she asks, and Bucky laughs softly.

“Wouldn’t ask for your permission if I did. ‘Sides, Stark and Barton could use a smile, and I’m sure Sarah will appreciate seeing his two uncles post-op, won’t you, princess?” Bucky asks, and Sarah giggles.

“Wanna see Uncle Tony and Uncle Clint.” she says, and Natasha chuckles, shaking her head. Tony and Clint, another two of Sarah’s constant figures in her life, both of them Natasha’s close friends and co-workers too. Tony is an attending for plastics, while Clint is under pediatric surgery. She does recall them telling her of a surgery they were working on for a kid in the burn section, so she figures _this_ operation is the one Bucky’s referring to that they are just getting out of.

“Okay. Don’t forget to tell your Uncle Tony and Uncle Clint I say hi, little one,” she says softly, leaning to press a kiss on Sarah’s cheek as she nods. “I’ll come up after Mommy’s surgery, okay? You go with Uncle Bucky ‘cause he’s gonna bring you to daycare.”

“Mommy eat?” Sarah asks, and Natasha nods, humming.

“I’ll come get you later lunch, okay?” she says, and the toddler nods as Natasha presses another kiss on her forehead. “I love you, Sarah.”

“Love you, Mommy.” Sarah responds, and Natasha smiles.

“Barnes, daycare.” Natasha reminds, just as Bucky begins to walk off carrying Sarah with her, and the man chuckles.

“Where’s the trust in there, Doctor Romanoff?” he asks, and Natasha chuckles softly, shaking her head as she watches Bucky turn to the corner in another hall with Sarah, saying something to the little girl as she laughs, her small laughter ringing in the hallway just as she and Bucky disappear from the hallway Natasha is in.

Natasha turns to the other hallway and proceeds to the attendings' lounge, putting her bag in her locker and retrieving and changing into her scrubs, putting on her white coat. She opens her bag and grabs her small notebook and set of pens, and ties her wavy red hair into a ponytail. She grabs the charts, and opens it, reviewing as she walks out of the attendings' lounge and into the hallway.

She reviews the patient’s stats, as she should. She’s familiar with him, of course, has met with him a couple of times for consults and pre-op procedures: Vincent Karasev, 41 years old, male, as he had been one of her regular patients since his initial diagnosis of symptomatic epilepsy and aneurysm in his right anterior cerebral artery. He is a loving husband to a wife, Melinda Karasev, 40 years old, and a good father to their two children: Heather and Morris Karasev, 10 and 8 years old respectively. She had met the Karasev family, and they are a bunch of pleasant people, and she knows how much they trust her into this operation that may save Vincent’s life.

It’s important that she knows all of this, of course. _Rule number one is to treat your patient like people,_ he had told her once, a long time ago before there even became a _them,_ before she loved him, before he loved her and walked away. _If it helps knowing who their family is for you to see them as people and not just bodies, then do it._

He may have gone, and she may have been hating him with every inch of her body since he had left, but it’s one of the many things he had taught her that she will never forget: to be a doctor is to be human, and to see humans in bodies as well.

“Hey, you ready?” Natasha looks up and smiles as she finds Wanda walking up to her, a cup of coffee in hand. She smiles at the younger woman, and closes the charts as she nods.

“Let’s do this.”


	2. A Hard Day's Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, as it may include certain medical inconsistencies since I'm not a doctor, but I try my best to research as much as I can. Enjoy!

To say that she was exhausted from her day would be a total understatement.

“That’s about it,” Natasha looks up from her charts to her extended hand at Wanda, expecting for her to hand her another chart from another one of her patients she’s operated on for the day. Wanda smiles at her. “You deserve a down five.” She slaps Natasha’s hand as Natasha chuckles, closing the last chart and handing it over to the nurse who nods at her in acknowledgment.

“Five surgeries, four of which are back-to-back before and after lunch,” Natasha says, stretching her arms as she puts the pen back to her coat pocket. “I’m honestly surprised you were still up for it in the fifth one.”

“You underestimate me. See, I got to close,” she says proudly, and Natasha grins. “‘Sides, the last one was the easiest of the five.”

Natasha nods as she sighs. “That’s true,” she says, and she smiles at Wanda, raising her hand. “Great job, Doctor Maximoff.”

Wanda smiles and high-fives Natasha as she laughs softly. “You deserve some rest. Go grab Sarah and go home and all that,” she tells the attending. “I’m working on a double shift, and I’m off tomorrow.” Natasha nods.

“It’s fine, we don’t have anything much apart from monitoring, and I can always have Simmons or Johnson with me,” Natasha says. Jemma Simmons and Daisy Johnson are also two residents, but both of which are not exclusively under anybody’s mentorship, as they said they were still exploring. Maybe she could request for one of them to assist her just for tomorrow in Wanda’s absence. “You’ll need your rest after the double shift.”

“I’ll monitor closely on Vincent Karasev though, see if there might be any changes in blood flow in the brain. I’ll text you if something fishy happens.” Wanda says, and Natasha nods as she smiles.

“Thanks, Wanda.” Natasha says, turning on her heels to walk towards the attending lounge. Wanda calls out a soft good night as she hums, looking back and smiling at the resident before she disappears into another turn into the hallway to the attendings' lounge.

It’s another one of those long days in the life of a neurosurgeon, five surgeries and barely enough time to have lunch with her daughter. As promised, after her second surgery, she went up to daycare and brought Sarah some food so they were able to eat while Sarah played and babbled, but she got called in after an hour and a half through eating when she got called in for an emergency trauma consult. She had initially requested that Doctor Banner, her neurosurgeon counterpart and mentor, would take over, but as he was in another surgery, she had to rush back down.

“I’ll see you later, okay?” She pressed a kiss on Sarah’s head, feeling a heavy weight on her chest and pinching in her heart as she gets up and wraps her half-eaten sandwich. “I’m sorry Mommy has to work.”

“Mommy go save lives.” Sarah says softly, smiling up at her mother, and Natasha swore she wanted to _cry,_ because it’s as if her own daughter is telling her that it’s okay if their lunch is cut short, because she has an important job to take care of apart from being a good mother. Natasha embraces her daughter tightly, murmuring a soft “I love you” before finally getting up, sending a flying kiss to her daughter and walking down back to the surgical floor.

Which was how she ended up with five surgeries instead of the initial scheduled four, and for the record, she’s pretty damn proud of her capability as a surgeon to compartmentalize with _that_ many surgeries in one day.

She opens the door to the attendings' lounge, and smiles when she sees Clint sitting on one of the chairs in the table, his laptop on and a bunch of papers on the table. Clint looks up and smiles when he sees who entered.

“Long day?” he asks, and Natasha chuckles, removing her white coat and opening her locker.

“Typical,” she answers, pulling out her change of clothes. “You? What’s that you’re working on?”

“You know how it is, looking for new possible research and clinical trials,” Clint says, shrugging. He sighs and leans back in his seat as he crosses his arms over his chest. He looks up to find Natasha already changed back to her usual shirt and jeans, and he frowns slightly. “And _how_ is it that you change so quickly out of your scrubs all the damn time?”

Natasha hums. “Wanting to have a look, I see,” she teases, and Clint chuckles, shaking his head. “When you raise a toddler by yourself, you’ll have to learn to do things independently and quickly, and that includes having to change clothes before she even fusses for you.”

“Parent life, of course,” Clint says, nodding, and Natasha smiles. Clint is also a parent, a father to three kids all of whom Natasha adores and loves. He’s the wife of Laura Barton, his and Natasha’s classmate since high school. They've known one other for a while, have been friends for a long time, so Natasha, Sarah and the Bartons are pretty close. “The little bug still in daycare?”

“Yeah, I’m about to pick her up before she gets fussy for dinner. My lunch with her was cut short when Morse called me in for a trauma,” she says, and Clint raises his eyebrows. “Spinal injury from a car crash, nothing _too_ complicated.”

“Neuro’s complicated,” Clint comments, watching Natasha put her scrubs back inside her locker as she takes all of her things again. “Surprised you didn’t push through with cardio. You’ve always wanted that, right?”

Natasha scoffs. “Steve wanted that for me. I didn’t,” she corrects, and Clint shrugs. “I was the apprentice, and he was the star. I was fine with it, but then he left. So I go back to where I _originally_ wanted before I met him, and I’m happy with where I am now.”

_Imagine losing myself multiple times because of him._

“And you’re good at it too, I see,” Clint says, and Natasha smiles. “It’s one of the good things that came out of it.”

Natasha looks away slightly, and her smile slowly fades. “Yeah, one of it.” she says softly, and she brings her eyes back to her best friend. “Say hi to Laura and the kids for me.”

“‘Kay. Give Sarah a kiss for me.” he says, and Natasha hums, picking up her bag as she gives Clint one last smile before exiting the lounge.

_I was the apprentice, and he was the star._

It’s silly to think about it now, especially after this type of a long day heading neuro surgeries, how she had ever thought of diverting her field in cardio just because Steve, who had taken her under his wing when she was a resident, had been in cardio himself. Sure, she was one of the many under his wing, one of those that had been so captivated by the world of cardiothoracic surgery that she had somehow forgotten how inclined and interested she was in neuro in the first place. She adored him, as much as he adored her when she had once been his resident before. She couldn’t help but think of what her life might have been like if she had stayed in the path he built for her: a path in cardiothoracic surgery.

At the same time, she also can’t help but wonder what her life might have been like if he had just...stayed.

Natasha shakes her head as she presses the elevator button, pressing to daycare. _No,_ she is not going to think about this. This won't be one of those days where she will drown herself in regret and sorrow, and she won’t be thinking of the what-ifs, the what-might-have-beens and all that because it won’t be worth it. She’s happy, and like Clint said, she is absolutely _excelling_ in neurosurgery and in motherhood. No, she doesn’t need him. She likes how she built her life after everything that happened, and she likes who she is now.

There’s no use in having to look back.

One of the nurses in daycare smiles at her, and she smiles back. The nurse opens the door for her in the daycare center where Sarah is in along with other kids, and the little girl’s face lights up when she sees her mother. “Mommy!” she squeals in excitement as she runs towards her mother, who crouches down and catches her in her arms, pressing soft kisses on her little girl’s head.

“You ready to go home?” she asks, and the toddler nods against the crook of her neck. She smiles and stands, adjusting Sarah on her hip. “Say bye bye to the nurses, little one.”

“Bye bye!” Sarah exclaims, waving her hand at the nurses taking care of her. Natasha smiles, brushing her daughter’s hair as they walk out of the daycare and back to the elevator to the parking lot.

“Mommy, hungry.” Sarah says softly, and Natasha hums.

“D’you want some McDonald’s on the way home?” she asks. And just a _bit_ of a disclaimer: she’s _not_ a bad mother. She knows the limits of allowing her daughter some junk food every now and then (if only to complete her daughter's childhood), and Sarah hasn’t had McDonald’s since practically forever, so she figured now would also be a good time to order some McDonald’s food since she’s too spent to actually cook or have to think of anything else to make for dinner.

“Yeah, Mommy.” Sarah answers, and Natasha smiles, pressing a kiss on her daughter’s cheek.

Her phone vibrates just as the elevator door opens, so she steps out of the elevator into the main hospital lobby when she checks her phone. She sighs and lets out a soft chuckle when she sees a text from her sister. She texts back, hits send and puts her phone back in her back pocket.

“Guess who’s _finally_ coming by our house later, baby,” Natasha says, as she makes her way to the parking lot. Sarah hums and tilts her head questioningly at her mother. “Auntie Lena.”

“Auntie Lena!” Sarah repeats excitedly, clapping her hands, as Natasha laughs softly.

Her adoptive sister, Yelena Belova, is apparently in town and had texted her a few minutes ago that she was gonna drop by their place, asking her what food she wants for takeout since, in her own crude words: _I know you’re too spent to think of anything to make that is edible._ Natasha texts back that she had promised Sarah some McDonald’s, that they are on their way back home, and she can go ahead to their apartment.

As she buckles Sarah in her backseat, she couldn’t help but wonder what brought her sister to New York, since she lives literally across the country in Los Angeles, managing her small business that Natasha is not _entirely_ familiar with (but Yelena had assured her that it’s not as shady as it sounds, so Natasha figures she’s doing fine). She hasn’t seen her sister in person for a full year, and is only able to communicate with her in brief moments via phone call and video call, upon Yelena’s insistence so Sarah can recognize her “favorite” aunt should a time comes that they’d see each other in person. Apparently, today’s their lucky day.

They drive back to Natasha’s apartment, and once Natasha parks her car by the curb, they walk inside and up to her floor, with Sarah in her arms. She fumbles to fish for the keys in her bag, when she hears a faint and familiar, “It’s open!” inside her apartment.

She sighs, shaking her head as she smiles, remembering her sister still has a spare key of their—now only _her—_ apartment.

_Classic Yelena._

Natasha turns the doorknob and pushes the door, allowing her to enter. She puts Sarah down as she closes the door behind them. “Lena?” she calls. Sarah looks around at their apartment, and her face lights up when she hears a soft clanking of utensils from the dining area. She runs towards the noise in the dining area as Natasha puts her bag down on the living room couch.

“There’s my _solnyshko,”_ Natasha hears Yelena’s voice, followed by Sarah’s squeals and giggles. Natasha walks over to the dining area and finds a bag of McDonald’s takeout on the table and her sister, her hair shorter and, if possibly, blonder than before, carrying Sarah and peppering her face with kisses. “And there _she_ is. _Sestra.”_

 _"Sestra,"_ Natasha greets, smiling as she walks over and embraces her sister, pressing a kiss on her cheek. “What brings you out here in New York?”

“Just a bit of a business meeting with a business prospect. Call 'em a sponsor of some sorts,” Yelena says, putting Sarah down on her feet just as the toddler speeds off to her room. “But that thing’s been done earlier today, so I decided, _hey,_ why not visit my sister and niece, am I right?”

Natasha scoffs, a smirk playing on her lips. “Glad to somehow come across your mind somehow in your business trip,” she says, and Yelena grins widely as she pulls out the McDonald’s food from the paper bags she had brought in with her. “Sarah, baby, dinner’s ready!” Natasha calls.

The two women set the table, just as Sarah runs back to the dining area. Natasha lifts her to her lap, as she feeds Sarah her requested chicken nuggets, while she eats some of her own. Sarah babbles about her day, and both Natasha and Yelena join her in. Dinner's filled with giggles and babbles from the toddler, immediately putting smiles on both older women's faces.

Eventually, Natasha directs her attention to her sister. “This business prospect of yours, it’s a good one?” Natasha asks, and Yelena hums, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s alright. It’ll keep the business going, definitely,” she answers, and Natasha nods. “As long as money keeps going in, right?” Natasha chuckles.

“I’m not against it, Lena, I’m just saying this better be _more_ worth it than having to drop from nursing school and actually _earn_ a living in the medical field too.” Natasha says, and Yelena scoffs.

“Okay, now you sound like Papa,” Yelena says, raising an eyebrow, as Natasha rolls her eyes, unable to keep the smile forming on her face. “You used to be less bitter about me dropping out of nursing school.”

“Well, I used to be _less_ bitter about a lot of things before,” she says, and Yelena shrugs and nods. “But then life happens, _sisters_ happen, and sometimes you get all bitter all of a sudden.”

Yelena leans back in her seat, her eyes narrowing slightly at her sister, as if inspecting her carefully. “Have you heard anything from him?” she asks quietly, and Natasha looks up at her sister and sighs, her arms around Sarah tightening as the little girl peacefully munches on with the remaining fries on her and Natasha's plate.

“No, nothing,” she answers quietly. “The others haven’t either. Last I heard was Seattle, and that was...that was that.”

Yelena nods slowly. Natasha can tell she wants to push more with the topic, but Yelena’s eyes flicker over to Sarah, and she purses her lips. The conversation would have to resume after Natasha puts Sarah back to sleep because where their conversation would be heading isn’t one for a kid’s ears after all, much less for Sarah’s ears.

Besides, it’s almost time for Sarah’s bedtime too.

So after dinner, Yelena volunteers to clean up the dishes just as Natasha helps brush Sarah’s teeth and in her pyjamas to prepare her for bed. “Mommy, sleep beside you.” Sarah requests, smiling sleepily up at her mother. Natasha smiles and presses a kiss on her daughter’s forehead.

Sarah has her own room, where all her clothes and toys are, and where her bed is too. But since an incident— _the_ incident—last year, Natasha had made it a habit to bring her little girl to bed with her so she can cuddle closely with her every night. It worked, of course, because apart from that which happened last year that brought both of them nightmares practically every evening (one that still leaves Natasha a little shaken if she recalls it, thus the need to hold her daughter close to her every night), as what Natasha had said, her little girl serves as her mini and live alarm clock, and it’s the _best_ alarm clock Natasha could ever wake up to.

“Of course, little love.” Natasha responds softly, rubbing their noses together as Natasha carries her into her bedroom and the toddler rests her head on her mother's shoulder. She lays Sarah on the bed, and grabs a pillow to place it beside Sarah in case she would fall off the bed in her sleep. The little girl yawns, her eyes fluttering close as she smiles sleepily at her mother.

“Night, night, Mommy.” she mumbles, and Natasha smiles, pressing a kiss on her toddler's forehead.

“Night night, little bug,” Natasha whispers, pressing another soft kiss on the tip of Sarah's nose as the toddler giggles softly. “I love you.”

Natasha hums her usual lullaby, brushing Sarah’s soft blonde hair as the little girl’s eyes start blinking heavily, her breathing becoming more even, until she eventually falls into her usual deep slumber.

“Mommy loves you.” Natasha whispers once again, once she’s sure that Sarah has already fallen asleep. She presses a soft kiss on her daughter’s head, as she stays for a moment, watching her baby sleep, her small chest rising and falling, as her long lashes touch her creamy cheeks.

She will never get tired of this—taking care of, and watching her baby girl fall asleep.

She turns her night light on, and carefully shuts the door. She turns to the living room and sees her sister on the couch, drinking straight from one of the wine bottles Natasha knows to be part of her stash in her cupboard. Natasha chuckles as she sits beside her sister, who hands over the wine bottle to her. Natasha chugs on it, figuring she might _need_ a decent amount of alcohol in her system if she and her sister were to discuss something that’s _quite_ overdue between them, but is not necessarily something Natasha is exactly thrilled to discuss as well.

Yelena looks at her, her green eyes wide and expecting as Natasha sighs, putting the wine bottle down on the table in front of them. “You wanted to talk?” she asks, and Yelena tilts her head.

“Steve.” she prompts.

 _Right._ Steve Rogers, the hotshot cardiothoracic surgeon in SHIELD New York Hospital, who was once her mentor, her subsequent lover, and the father of her child. She didn’t think he ever came around knowing the last part, but _hey,_ who's telling him, anyway? And who cares, right?

Over the times she and Yelena had spent time talking over video or phone call, she never told her sister in detail about what happened. She never spilled the details, never said anything besides “He left.” and “He doesn’t know about the baby.” when referring to his departure. Yelena had learned to not push it too far, but for her not to know anything for the past three years, she thinks that somehow, it’s time for her to _really_ push hard to get her sister to talk. She deserves the truth, deserves to know a little _more_ than what she had been hearing.

And Natasha contemplates on allowing herself to be pushed, because she acknowledges, of course, the fact that her sister does deserve to know. Her sister deserves to hear an even bigger portion of Natasha’s life than what she originally planned for her sister to be in. But she had just gotten back on her own two feet, and she had just gotten a newer bearing on her new life, so the last thing she wants to do is to remember and recount the things that made her even fall from life in the first place.

“Right,” Natasha says, and Yelena raises an eyebrow. Natasha leans back in her seat, her back resting on the armrest as she removes her shoes and raises her legs on the couch. “There’s nothing to talk about.” she says quietly.

 _“Bullshit._ There’s a lot to talk about,” Yelena says, and Natasha sighs. “I know we don’t often see each other seeing as I live across the country, and I only drop by, like, twice a year on Thanksgiving and Christmas except for _last_ year, and you only ever answer my video calls so I could _mostly_ have Sarah recognize me but goddamn it, Nat, you gotta at least give me more than just crumbs of updates of your life.”

Natasha sighs, crossing her arms over her chest as she looks away. Yelena continues, “Because every time I call there’s _always_ a new surprise. I call once, I find out, _oh,_ my sister’s gonna go to cardiac surgery, that’s great! And then the next, _oh_ no, she's not, she’s going to neuro. And then the next, she switched her fellowship! Without even giving me an explanation!” Yelena raises her hands, as Natasha runs her hand through her hair. “And you don’t even have to get _me_ started when Mister Cardio Hotshot had upped and left, which is the _main_ point of our conversation. And Sarah, apparently last year, what? She got—”

“Okay, I think I get it.” Natasha says, cutting her off, as she inwardly cringes at the old nickname, and Yelena sighs.

“You wanna tell me all about it in great detail?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at her older sister. “I think I deserve to at least hear all of _these_ from you and not from your friends.”

Natasha purses her lips and looks away, biting the inside of her cheek as she sighs. “After Steve left, I went to neuro...you’re right about that,” she starts softly, and Yelena leans back on the other side of the arm rest across her sister. “But I was training in both under Steve and Doctor Banner’s mentorships during my residency, for _both_ cardio and neuro. You know how much I wanted neuro, how much I wanted to operate on nerves and the brain and the spine, and _not_ necessarily in the heart.”

“You almost went to cardio.” Yelena points out, and Natasha sighs.

“I did,” she admits softly. “But things happened, and I...went to pursue my dream to become a neurosurgeon instead. So I got my dream back of pursuing neuro. Now here I am.”

Yelena purses her lips, choosing her words carefully for her next question. “That happened when Steve left which...why...how?” she asks quietly, shaking her head, and Natasha looks away, feeling the familiar pang in her chest as she recalls _everything,_ everything that she hasn’t told her sister nor really _anyone_ yet because she just couldn’t find it in herself to be ready for it.

_I love you, and I’m always going to love you. But I don’t wanna love you anymore. I want to be happy._

It hurt. It hurt remembering it, and hearing it as if it had been yesterday, and it’s not exactly something she’s ready to discuss as well.

Yelena seems to sense her sister’s discomfort, one she fully understands of course, and she sighs. _One for another time._ “Okay, just...you don't have to...” Yelena sighs, running her hand through her hair as she straightens in her seat. _That bad, huh?_ “Okay, _fine,_ so _that_ explains the shift in field, at least.”

Natasha sighs and nods. “I took the boards under neuro the year after he left, and I passed, and I got a fellowship in pediatric neurosurgery,” she says, and Yelena nods, and Natasha sighs, looking down at her hands. “But then Sarah got...she got sick.” She looks up at Yelena, whose mouth slightly parts in shock. She’s never heard about this, not _specifically_ this portion. “It’s...it was a complicated sickness, but they thought it was neuro, so they opened her up, and...I got out of order and out of bounds.”

When Sarah was fifteen months old, there had been days where all of a sudden she suffered episodes of unresponsiveness, hypoxia and hypothermia. Natasha rushed her in SHIELD, under Clint’s supervision, who had a difficult time isolating or identifying what had happened to Sarah. There were brain scans involved, which all appeared to be normal, but Natasha insisted on opening her to check. She got out of bounds, became uncontrollable that the chief of surgery had _almost_ threatened to fire her if she continued interfering with Sarah’s treatment, but she couldn’t help it.

In the end, they followed Natasha’s recommendations and possible course of treatments. And in hindsight, Natasha figures that was _why_ doctors aren't allowed to operate nor treat their families.

“What happened?” Yelena asks softly, and Natasha quirks her mouth to the side and shakes her head.

“It wasn’t something in the brain. It was something in her heart,” She shakes her head. “We monitored her by the bedside until she was moved to the PICU, and then she displayed signs of acrocyanosis, bluish hands and feet, and we didn’t know what was happening.”

Natasha pauses, as she closes her eyes. “And mind you, she was a one-year-old who had just recovered from having her skull opened, so it had been a _difficult_ time of recovery because _more_ scans were needed.” Her voice breaks, and she clears her throat as she opens her eyes, and looks back at her sister. “By the end, it was heart failure. My baby girl’s heart was failing.”

Tetralogy of Fallot, a congenital heart disease. It’s what happened to Sarah, that had her knocked out of her consciousness in episodes, had her beg to breathe for more air because she _couldn’t,_ most especially in the evenings. Natasha remembers those nights, how she had _wished_ she could just literally breathe in some air in her daughter’s lungs so she wouldn’t have to be in pain, so she wouldn’t have to wear an oxygen mask and have all these needles puncturing her just so she could live.

“She needed a heart surgeon, a specialized pediatric heart surgeon and during that time, Thor still wasn’t in SHIELD, so we had to transfer her to Hopkins, where a good colleague of mine stayed. He was more of Steve’s colleague than mine since...they practically belonged in the same fellowship and specialty, and he was able to isolate the problem so easily,” she explains. She shakes her head, looking up at her sister as Yelena frowns slightly. “I have never hated Steve as much as I did right then.”

He wouldn’t operate on her, but he would’ve easily known. It wouldn’t have taken them _days_ post-opening her skull to figure out it had been a cardiovascular failure that was making her little girl suffer. There wouldn’t probably even _be_ an attempted neuro operation because he would have known and her little girl wouldn’t have had to suffer for _days_ of respiratory failure and more episodes of hypothermia and hypoxia. He would’ve known right then and there what was wrong, and what needed to be done.

But that’s the point, wasn’t it? He wasn’t there. Sarah had to suffer all of it because none of them nearly knew what to do, and they were only able to isolate the problem _days_ after Sarah had already suffered so much. Natasha had to suffer _alone_ through it all too, having to listen to her little girl moan and cry just because she’s in pain, or she’s cold and she couldn’t breathe, and all Natasha could ever do was cry and hold her little girl, because she may be a doctor, a fresh fellow trying to finish her program in pediatric neurosurgery, but she couldn’t do anything to fix her little girl because she didn’t know _how_ and if she did, she wasn’t allowed to. And on top of everything else, she had nobody with her because she’s a _single_ parent to a sick fifteen-month-old at that time.

All because Steve wasn’t there.

“I couldn’t stay in peds, not...not pediatric neurosurgery. I couldn't look at a kid on the table and _not_ think of Sarah...so I took up another fellowship for neuro-oncology and cerebrovascular surgery,” she says, shrugging and Yelena sighs. “It’s where I am now.”

“All because of Steve?” Yelena asks, and she sighs. “Nat, you can’t always make changes and adjustments in your life just so you can evade Steve, or any reminder of him, as much as you can from your life.”

“I’m not evading,” Natasha tells her sister. “I’m just...I’ve moved on, okay? It’s been _three_ years, and he left, and there’s nothing else I can do about that.”

Wrong. There’s so _many_ she can do about it, but it’s her sister that had told her that there’s more things she can do worth her time than chasing after the man who had walked away on her, than having to wallow about the man who had walked away on _them._ Yelena looks at her sister intently, wanting to say more, and wanting to ask more, but refusing to do so instead, as Natasha is already looking so obviously and visibly upset.

 _Moved on my fucking ass,_ Yelena thinks, as she sighs. _But it’s better not to push it._

“You’re happy with where you are?” she asks softly, and Natasha looks back at her sister.

“I am,” she answers, and she offers her sister a small smile. “I’m pretty damn proud of where I am now.”

She’s a successful attending neurosurgeon, something that she has always wanted to become since she was a child, and something she was _close_ to not being just because she felt trapped under Steve’s wing. She is a mother to a wonderful and beautiful, and now very healthy little girl who is nothing but smiles and rainbows and sunshine. Plus, she gets a ton of support from her colleagues, her friends, whom Sarah lovingly calls as her aunties and uncles, even as they are her mother’s co-workers. She is happy with where she is, and she couldn’t think of any other place she’d rather be but here.

Yelena smirks. “Then that’s how you make that son of a bitch pay: by being happy without him.” she says, and Natasha laughs softly, nodding in agreement. She agrees. She _wholeheartedly_ agrees.

Natasha watches her sister look over at the table as she points at the wine bottle. Natasha chuckles, stretching over to retrieve the bottle, and handing it over to her sister. “Now it’s _your_ turn to tell me all about what’s been happening to you and your life.” Natasha says, and Yelena scoffs playfully.

“There’s _nothing_ to discuss about me,” Yelena says, raising an eyebrow challengingly. “And that one's a fact.”

“You think I’m just gonna believe that?” Natasha asks, raising an eyebrow. “Heard you and Alexei had a little bit of—”

“Oh, _shut_ up!” Yelena cuts her off with a laugh, and Natasha smirks. “Fine, fine, I’ll tell you _everything,_ just shut it with Alexei!”

“Come on, the fucking can’t be _that_ bad.”

“Oh, Natalia, I promise you, I _finally_ understood why you bailed out from him after your one-night stand in high school.” Yelena says pointedly, and Natasha laughs.

“Was it _that_ bad, still, after all these years?” Natasha asks, and Yelena rolls her eyes, unable to keep the smile forming on her face.

“Alexei for sure did _not_ improve at all.” Yelena says, as she begins to recount her own life and love story, the things Natasha’s missed from their video and phone calls, and the things she has yet to learn about about her sister's personal life.


	3. Stranger Danger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, as it may include certain medical inconsistencies since I'm not a doctor, but I try my best to research as much as I can. Enjoy!

She’s on call, on a double shift, and wants _nothing_ else but to go home and snuggle with her daughter. Yet here she is, in the attendings' lounge, in front of piles of charts and reports she needs to accomplish from the surgeries she’s had.

And because she’s on call and on a double shift, Natasha had asked Yelena (if only to make herself useful) if she could babysit for Sarah for the night and bring her over to the hospital by morning so Natasha can at least see her during her grueling shifts. Normally, she would ask Laura, Clint’s wife, to do the favor for her, but since her sister is in town for a couple more days, she said, then she might as well be the one to stay with Sarah. She can see the first rays of the sun peeking through the blinds in the lounge and she recalls the time when she was still a resident who had managed to pull of a 48-hour straight stint. She was young, and while she thought that being a mother would just help in further extending her threshold of keeping her eyes open, she actually _just_ grew more tired.

She finishes the last of her charts and gets up from her seat as she stretches, twisting her torso and yawning loudly. She gathers the pile of charts and walks out of the lounge, walking over to the nurses’ station.

“Surprised you’re still here and alive,” the nurse, Elena Rodriguez, a young and slender Latina woman—a good friend of Natasha’s, says as she takes the charts from Natasha’s hands, and Natasha hums, leaning on the counter. “You working on a double shift?” Natasha nods.

“And I’m on-call,” Natasha adds. “Doctor Banner’s not in, so he owes me a shift.” Elena hums.

“You got your little one here with you now?” she asks, and Natasha shakes her head.

“She’s with my sister. I don’t usually bring her when I work at night, or am on-call, or when I’m doing double shifts,” she explains, and she offers a small smile as she scrunches her nose. “Is it weird that I miss snuggling with her now?” she asks softly.

Elena laughs softly, and she shakes her head. “I would understand. If I’ve grown attached to your little _mija,_ and I’ve only watched her from afar, most of the time, I could only imagine what you must be feeling now. I miss your little girl now as we speak about her.”

Natasha laughs softly. “Yeah, well, worry _not,_ because my sister’s gonna bring her here in the morning. So I hope you’re still ‘round here by that time.” she says, and the nurse smiles.

“I’ll make sure I will be,” she says. Natasha smiles, just as Elena perks up in her seat all of a sudden—a sign Natasha could only tell that she has some stories and gossip up her sleeve, and at this point of her shifts, Natasha is _all_ for it to keep herself entertained. “Have you heard, Doctor Romanoff? There are new attendings coming in in the morning.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Two new surgeons?” she asks, and Elena nods. “I sure hope one of them would be neuro so I won’t have to work on double shifts anymore.”

Elena shakes her head. “Cardio and peds,” she says. “And as in _both_ of them will be coming in in the morning. It’s like a double treat for the surgical department, since we’re practically gaining surgeons from two departments who need it the most.” Elena grins. “Like a _double_ blessing.”

That’s true. They _are_ out of surgeons from both cardio and pediatrics. Ever since Steve left, a few more others did, and thank goodness because Thor Odinson, a renowned cardiothoracic surgeon coming from a family of surgeons from Europe came in and applied, because his skills had definitely made up for the loss that is Steve Rogers and the combined others who left after. Pediatrics has always been scarce in surgeons, but SHIELD is lucky to have someone like Clint who’s as hardworking and skillful as a team of pediatric surgeons as well.

But no matter how skillful or hardworking either Thor or Clint would be, they were still individuals who can’t always pull off double shifts and back-to-back surgeries. So it’s good that there would be additional surgeons in the hospital, more so in the two departments needing it the most.

“D’you know where they’re from?” Natasha asks. “And you’re _sure_ there are two of them, specifically in cardio and peds?” Elena nods.

“I’m _sure_ they’re coming in. You know nurse gossips, we almost _never_ get these things wrong,” she says, winking, and Natasha chuckles softly. “And from what we know, from our secret source, they’re both from Seattle. Though what I’ve heard, is that one of them has already worked here before.”

Natasha pauses, and she opens her mouth to say something but nothing comes out, as Elena continues, “And _oh,_ everyone started pitching in their bets on _who_ could it have been!” she exclaims almost excitedly. “We didn’t know which _one_ of them would have been the one who already worked here before, but it’s not that hard to narrow down since there _are_ only a few surgeons who had left SHIELD under those departments.”

There _are_ only a few, which means the chances of one of them being _him_ is big enough it makes her sick.

Natasha clears her throat. “Who’d you put your bet on?” she asks casually, and Elena smiles.

“Doctor Hunter,” she answers, and Natasha chuckles, remembering her colleague from cardio who had resigned not long after Steve did, but he resigned in hopes of gaining yet another fellowship, which is an _entirely_ different reason than Steve’s. “We miss him, and he’s a pretty damn good surgeon too. Put my bet ‘cause he seemed to still be in contact with Doctor Morse?”

“Morse? You mean Bobbi from trauma?” Natasha asks amusingly. She knows about the past marriage and the on-and-off stint the two had afterwards, but she would never take Bobbi as someone who would easily take back an ex-husband. After all, _she_ had been the one to tell Natasha she was over Lance Hunter, and who had been dating somebody else a few weeks after he had left. “You think they’re getting back together?”

“It’s not a ‘think’ as much as ‘want’,” Elena admits, and Natasha laughs softly. “But I suppose I vote for him ‘cause it’s better than other popular alternatives.”

“Like who?” Natasha asks, and Elena smiles sheepishly at her.

“Doctor Rogers,” she answers quietly, and Natasha purses her lips together and looks down. “I didn’t vote for him, but the others did, and it’s really not because they liked him.” Elena shrugs. “It’s just the most likely to come back.”

_No, he won’t, he really won’t._

“I don’t think he will, Elena,” Natasha tells her softly. She remembers it vividly: his departure, the words he said. The words he said were words of a man who will not come back, if he was dignified enough. And Natasha knew Steve well enough to assert the fact that he _is,_ in fact, a dignified man who stands by his words and decisions.

_I don’t want to love you. I want to be happy._

“Steve coming back, it’s...I don’t think he will.” Natasha says quietly, as she looks at the nurse’s deep brown eyes.

Elena looks at her sympathetically. “Don’t lose hope if you must, Natasha,” she says, and Natasha sighs. “But you’re kinda right, though. With what...with what happened, I don’t think I’d like it if he just comes back like that, you know?”

 _Me neither._ Natasha shrugs. “It was his choice. Everything was,” she says quietly. She looks at her watch and takes a deep breath. “Okay, I think I might kill some time for a nap. Have another operation at nine in the morning.” She gestures over at the outdated O.R. board. “Not your shift to change the board?”

Elena chuckles and shakes her head. “That’d be Jasper’s job, but he’ll be here in an hour,” she says, and smiles at Natasha. “Great chat as usual, Doctor.”

“You too, Elena.” Natasha says, smiling. She waves at the nurse as she pushes herself off the counter and walks back to the sleeping area.

She takes her phone out and sets an alarm for six-thirty in the morning to give herself some time to bathe, grab some coffee and put on some fresh clothes before starting the last of her double shift. She opens one of the rooms and closes the door behind it, as she crashes on one of the beds. She turns on the bed and sighs.

What if it was Steve who would come back?

While she tries to convince herself that it _couldn’t_ be Steve, that it was Lance Hunter, or Leopold Fitz, or _anyone_ else who had left way before, she couldn’t help but think of the big what-if question. It’s not that it’s impossible, because it’s not. No matter how many times Natasha would try to convince herself that Steve Rogers meant every word he had told her that night, no matter how firm her belief is in thinking that Steve Rogers is a dignified enough man to stand by the words he said, whether hurtful or not, whether in person or through a phone call, she couldn’t help but think that maybe she hadn’t exactly known him all too well. She couldn’t help but have that _little_ ounce of hope (if she’d even call it as such) that in _some_ cases, he caves away from his words, that maybe this time, he’d come back and regret all the things he’d said and make it up for it.

But then again, she didn’t know him enough to know that he’d leave the way he did, even after telling her he loved her. So there was that too.

Natasha huffs and shakes her head. “Dangerous thoughts, Nat,” she whispers to herself, closing her eyes. “He’s not coming back.”

_He isn’t, right?_

She wakes because of the alarm blaring from her phone at exactly half past six in the morning. She groans, pretty much missing her natural, live and _much_ cuter and more precious alarm clock that is her daughter. She turns the alarm off her phone, and sees a text from Yelena, reporting that Sarah had just woken her up since it’s time for her to go to daycare, adding: _I don't get why the first thing she tells me is doctors wake early when I'm not even one!_ Natasha chuckles as she gets up from bed and stretches, standing up to get her bearings as she proceeds to the attendings' lounge.

“Well, you look like crap,” Tony Stark greets her with a smug smirk, as she enters, and she scowls at him as he pours coffee in a mug that the attendings know to be unofficially Natasha’s. “Made you coffee, though. You look like you need it.”

“Double shift, and thanks.” Natasha answers, opening her locker to retrieve her fresh set of clothes and toiletries.

“Got another operation lined up?” Tony asks, as he sits back down on his seat, pulling out his phone and fumbling on it, and Natasha hums.

“Got three today, I think, though I’m waiting for Maximoff to show up for her shift before I’ll know,” she says, closing her locker and resting her clothes and toiletries on the table as she takes the mug of coffee and sits down across Tony. “You?”

“No idea. Which is why I’m also waiting for Wilson to show up. He knows it better than I do,” he responds, putting his phone down as he offers Natasha a smile. “Since when did we become so codependent with our residents?” Natasha laughs softly, shaking her head.

“Since we got richer and more arrogant,” Natasha responds, and Tony chuckles. “And there’s something about their class too, since I don’t recall myself ever being like that before, and I'm sure _you_ don't either.”

“I don’t remember residency _at all,”_ Tony says, and Natasha chuckles. “It's a long time ago for me. And it's a _long_ time for you too. Before fellowship and…” he trails off, and Natasha gives him a small smile and nods as Tony gives her a tight smile. “Well, before everything else turned to shit.”

“That’s one way to put it,” she says, nodding as she takes a sip from her coffee. “Hey, d’you hear two new attendings will be coming in?” Tony raises an eyebrow.

“And since when did _you_ subscribe to the gossips in the nurses' station?” he asks, smirking, as Natasha scoffs and shakes her head. “I did hear it, but I heard it from Odinson, who said one of ‘em’s in cardio, so he’s pretty excited for another cardiac surgeon.”

_So it’s confirmed, huh? One of them’s in cardio?_

“Don’t know if Barton’s heard about the new one from peds, but I’m sure he has since word travels fast,” Tony says, and then he looks at Natasha in the eyes. “But the cardio. You don’t...you don’t think it’s Rogers, do you?”

Natasha shrugs and shakes her head. “Have you heard from him?” she asks quietly.

“Nothing,” he answers truthfully. “And I don’t think I’d want to. You know how I feel about what he did.”

She does. Tony and Steve were close friends, and he was the one who introduced Steve to Natasha, claiming Natasha to be one of the best residents in her class that he had handled as an attending, that basically pushed Steve into taking her to be under his wing in cardio. He was the one who pushed for them to be together, pushed for Steve to confess to Natasha how he felt for her, and vice versa. When Steve had left, and all of Natasha’s life had practically crumbled to the ground, he took complete responsibility of her broken heart and lost state, which was how he and his new wife, Pepper from derma, became part of Natasha’s support system through the breakup and pregnancy, moreso when she had Sarah, and when Sarah got sick. The Starks know about the things that Natasha had gone through, what she felt, what she had to deal with post-Steve.

Natasha had told Tony numerous times that she doesn’t blame him for the things Steve did and didn’t do, for breaking her heart and leaving her, but knowing Tony Stark, he wouldn’t listen to her nor believe her. She thinks that even if she tells the same thing now, he still wouldn’t listen, even if it had been three years that passed already.

To say he hated Steve the same way she did was an overstatement. Natasha couldn’t think of _anyone_ better who could possibly hate him more than she does, even if it came from his best friend who was also hurt when Steve had left without even saying a proper goodbye.

“What if it was him?” she asks Tony quietly, and Tony’s jaw clenches. “What if the new cardio was him, and he came back?”

“Then he’s a dumbfuck,” he says as a finality, and Natasha winces inwardly. He takes a deep breath as he smooths his coat. “If it was him, then he’s got some balls to show up after everything. He could’ve used those to stay and figure out what was happening between you two, _actually_ fix whatever damage you two had, _or_ break up with you properly, at least, but…” he trails off and sighs as he shakes his head. “It’s not gonna be him. It _shouldn’t_ be him.”

He looks at his watch, and then back at Natasha. “I think you should go shower or whatever before the residents do their rounds,” he says, and Natasha nods. “Grab some breakfast? I can bring you some.”

“Just the usual sandwich,” Natasha answers, finishing her coffee and standing up as she gathers her things. “You shoot me a text when you see Wanda?”

“You got it.”

Natasha takes a quick shower and changes into a fresh set of clothes. She brushes her teeth and dries her hair, tying it into a loose and messy bun. She puts on a bit of makeup (to at least make herself more presentable in front of her patients and their families) and puts her white coat on. She puts last night’s clothes back into her locker, and retrieves her small notebook and pens just in time as Tony comes back in the lounge, behind him Clint and Bucky, both of whom had just timed in.

“Fresh morning, I see.” Bucky greets Natasha who chuckles as she closes her locker and sits back down on her seat by the table as Tony puts the bag of food down.

“You look less like crap now.” Tony says, grinning, as Natasha scowls, opening the bag to retrieve her sandwich.

“Oh yeah, Maximoff’s already doing rounds,” Clint says, putting his white coat on. “Well, all the residents are along with the interns, but yeah, and I think neuro’s about to finish.”

“Just as I was gonna eat my sandwich,” Natasha says, sighing, as she takes a bite from the sandwich Tony bought for her. She gets up from her seat as she wraps the sandwich again. “Thanks for the sandwich, Tony.”

Tony hums in acknowledgment just as Natasha puts her sandwich in her coat pocket and she proceeds out of the lounge and into the hallway of the patients. She smiles when she sees Wanda and her group of interns, and her resident grins widely at her.

“Just in time, Doctor Romanoff, we’re about to drop by Emma Krasinski’s room,” Wanda says, handing over to Natasha her charts. Emma Krasinski, 47 years old, one of Natasha’s return patients because of extensive lesions found across the midline of her brain. Her sister had brought her in, after Emma reported of coordination complaints on her right upper extremities and exhibited other neurological symptoms.

It’s not a simple procedure, that much Natasha had remembered. “She’s your nine-thirty, the first one for the day.” Wanda reminds.

Natasha hums. “Guess it’s time to prep her now,” she says, and she looks over at Wanda as they stop in front of Emma Krasinski’s room. “It’s gonna be a long day.”

And it _had_ been another long day, but it was somehow bearable and manageable. Yelena had dropped Sarah to daycare just before Natasha started prepping for surgery for Emma, so Natasha was able to embrace and spend even just a little bit of time with her daughter before she started her day. Emma Krasinski’s operation was a success, and Wanda took over in the closing and post-op, giving Natasha the freedom to see her daughter. So Natasha celebrated the small victory by having lunch with Sarah in daycare, who had babbled to her mother about everything she and her Auntie Yelena watched and talked about when Natasha was gone.

It’s their usual routine whenever Natasha takes a double shift or is on-call, and it works. Her little girl sort of understands, and Natasha figures so as long as Sarah would see her sooner as she promised, then everything would be fine.

“Mommy, you come home later?” Sarah asked during lunch, and Natasha nodded as she smiled at her little girl.

“I will,” she answered softly, and Sarah giggled. “What do you wanna do when we get home later?”

“Snuggles!” Sarah exclaimed, and Natasha laughed, feeling her heart flutter inside her chest. Natasha had scooped the little girl in her arms and they cuddled until Natasha’s break ended, and she’s due to go back for another operation.

She and Wanda are due to perform two more surgeries for the rest of the day. After Emma Krasinski’s operation was an aneurysm clipping, one which Natasha gave to Wanda as it is a simple neuro procedure after all. The operation took them four hours, and Natasha took over in closing while she allowed Wanda to tell the family of the good news that the patient will be in post-op afterwards.

“She’s getting good at this,” one of the nurses say just as she watches Wanda exit the operating room. Natasha looks up at the nurse and hums as she smiles and nods. “Think she’s gonna follow your footsteps soon?”

“I hope so. She has steady and precise hands, would be a shame if she wouldn’t push for neuro,” she responds as she starts working on closing. “She’ll be good at it.”

“She’ll be the next Doctor Romanoff for sure,” the nurse says, and Natasha chuckles softly. “You did good, doctor.”

“Thank you.” Natasha responds, looking up to meet the nurse’s eyes. The nurse nods and continues with the assist, as the other nurses and doctors present start prepping for the post-op.

By the time Natasha is done closing, and the nurses and the others begin to assist for post-op, Natasha is surprised Wanda hasn’t returned yet. She takes off her mask and cap, removes her gloves and disposes of them as she scrubs. Her eyes narrow when Wanda hasn’t come back yet, because informing the relatives usually take a lesser time, and usually Wanda would come back immediately after so she can start with the charts and reports alongside Natasha.

She looks at the clock. They both have an hour left before the next surgery, so she’s _sure_ that Wanda isn’t preparing the next patient yet.

Natasha steps out of the operating room and into the hallway, where she sees Wanda walking her way back to the operating room, her face practically scowling as she continues to look down at her feet. “Hey,” Natasha says softly, and Wanda flinches in surprise as she looks up and finds Natasha meeting her halfway. “Is everything okay?”

“Y-yeah,” Wanda answers, nodding, and Natasha narrows her eyes. “I-I was just...I just talked and informed the family.”

“For almost half an hour?” Natasha asks, raising an eyebrow, and Wanda opens her mouth to answer but she shakes her head. “Anyway, we have to fill the charts.”

“Right, of course.” Wanda answers quietly, as she follows Natasha out of the hallway and into the nurses’ station. Natasha looks back at her apprentice and she frowns slightly when she sees Wanda still looking down, her eyebrows furrowed as if she’s thinking hard and far away from where they are.

They fill the charts with ease, as Natasha guides Wanda, and Wanda fills it in including the report. Natasha retrieves the chart of their second patient for the afternoon: Matthew Reynolds, 42 years old, a cancer patient with metastatic brain tumors. He has a wife and three children, as far as she could remember from his previous visits and check-ins with her and his oncologist whom she works closely with for his treatment. The patient’s cancer is treatable, which is why he’s cleared for surgery to remove close tumors in his brain.

“Keyhole craniotomy?” Natasha looks up and smiles when Wanda looks up at her as she closes the previous patient’s charts. Natasha nods.

“Which is also called?” she prompts, and Wanda smiles.

“Retro-sigmoid craniotomy,” she answers, and Natasha nods. “Are the scans that bad?”

“Not really, but see for yourself,” she says, as she pulls out the envelope inside the binder with the charts and patient report. Wanda pulls the scans from the envelope out and raises it against the light as she narrows her eyes in examination. “I mean, tumors are tumors, but...this shouldn’t be _that_ bad.” Natasha turns to the nurse by the station. “Will you please have Doctor May come up immediately? Say it’s for Matthew Reynolds, the surgery at five.” The nurse nods and dials on the phone.

“Tumors are tumors, alright,” Wanda says, shrugging as she puts the envelope back. She then puts her hands inside the pockets of her white coat. “Nat, have you heard about the new cardio attending?” she asks quietly.

Natasha places her hand over Matthew Reynolds’ chart, and she shakes her head. “I only know there’s one coming, and another peds,” she answers. “Why? D’you hear something?”

Wanda shifts her weight from one foot to the other, as she bites her bottom lip. “N-not really,” she answers, and she looks away. “I mean...I heard people talk about it. And...and they say it’s...you know.” _Steve Rogers._

Natasha purses her lips and shakes her head as she sighs. It’s literally the _third_ time she has had this conversation over the course of her shift, and if she was being honest, it’s getting on her nerves. No, she has no idea whether this mystery cardio surgeon is, in fact, Steve Rogers or not, but she wouldn’t care less either way. She is _not_ about to dive herself in a spiral of what-ifs, and what-might-have-beens, and she is sure the hell _not_ about to ponder what she might do if Steve _does,_ in fact, show up.

Because no, she’s not supposed to do anything. She does not owe him anything in that sense.

So Natasha sighs. “Whether it’s Doctor Rogers or not, I don’t care,” she says, and Wanda looks back at Natasha as she gathers her patient’s scans and charts. “But I have a patient with tumors all over his brain, and I need my resident to be in the game with me.” Wanda straightens her body as she nods, lifting her chin slightly. “Are you ready, Doctor Maximoff?”

“Yes, Doctor Romanoff.”

The surgery for Matthew Reynolds finishes at around eight-thirty, as Doctor May insisted they start the operation as soon as she got down to meet with Natasha and Wanda, even if it hadn’t been five in the afternoon. Natasha nods at Wanda, who’s assigned to close as she takes a deep breath and nods at Doctor May, who nods back in acknowledgment as she assists Wanda in the closing. Natasha steps out of the operating room and scrubs, twisting her torso and stretching.

Her day is finally over.

She walks back to the hallway and into the nurses’ station to fill out charts and reports, when she hears her name being called out. She turns her head and finds Clint practically walking towards her. She furrows her eyebrows and frowns as Clint reaches the counter in front of her.

“Where’d you come from?” he asks almost breathlessly, as if he had been running, and Natasha raises an eyebrow.

“O.R. 3,” she answers, flipping open the patient charts as she retrieves a pen from her pocket. “Craniotomy for metastatic brain tumors. Why?”

“Nothing, nothing, it was good?” Clint asks, and Natasha nods as she begins writing. “Good, good, another one for Doctor Romanoff.” he says, as he takes a deep breath. Natasha pauses in her writing and looks at her best friend as she narrows her eyes at him.

“Are you okay?” she asks, and Clint nods quickly. _Too_ quickly for Natasha’s liking.

“Perfect, _incredibly_ perfect,” he answers. “Sarah in daycare?” Natasha maintains her eye contact at Clint but she nods, looking back at the chart she’s filling up. “D’you want me to pick her up? Bring her to the lounge where you’ll be after you fill up the charts?”

“Clint?” Natasha says, and Clint raises his eyebrows at Natasha. “What is happening?”

“Just offering a friend some help.” he answers, shrugging, but Natasha is quick to spot the beads of sweat forming on the side of his head, and she frowns slightly.

“You know something.” Natasha starts, and Clint shakes his head.

“I know nothing.”

“Is it the new peds surgeon? Did you meet them already?”

“No, no I haven’t,” Clint answers quickly, shaking his head. “You know what, you go fill those up, and I’ll go pick up little Sarah, okay? Okay. Meet you in the attendings' lounge.” He presses a kiss on Natasha’s temple as Natasha frowns, looking back as Clint quickly walks past her and into the elevator which he enters.

_That’s odd._

She thanks the nurse once she has filled out the charts, and on her way to the attendings lounge, she spots Wanda speaking quietly with Daisy Johnson and Jemma Simmons, two other residents. Maybe something _was_ bugging Wanda and she needed to let it out to her friends. Natasha shrugs it away as she proceeds back to the attendings' lounge, changing her clothes and stuffing her scrubs in the laundry bag there. She hangs her white coat back in her locker and gathers her things. She sighs as she closes the locker, wanting _nothing_ more than to go home and snuggle with her daughter on the bed.

Overall, it’s been a pretty okay day.

True to his word, Clint brings Sarah back to the lounge, as Natasha gathers the little girl in her arms and bids Clint a good night. Sarah’s eyes started drooping as the little girl rests her head on her mother’s shoulder. Natasha hums, pressing a kiss on her daughter’s hair, adjusting so she lifts Sarah’s hoodie over her head, securing the little girl under Natasha’s coat, as she walks in the elevator going down.

It’s a lovely evening, where all that’s in Natasha’s mind is to spend the night cuddling with her daughter as the two drift off to a comfortable and deep slumber that evening. She begins to mentally note of what easy meal she can cook before she and Sarah would officially turn in for the evening, eliminating takeout and McDonald’s in the option, as Natasha figured her sister might have spoiled her daughter with McDonald’s when she was in her double shift.

She was so focused, so lost in her and Sarah’s world, that she didn’t notice a pair of blue eyes belonging to a man who had grown to become a stranger to her for the past three years, looking right at her as she walks out of the elevator. Said man pauses in his tracks, as if entranced when she steps out of the elevator and into the parking lot, his eyes following her even as she disappears out of his sight from where he is and into what could be her car. She doesn’t notice him, even as he’s one of the few people remaining in the main lobby of the hospital. She doesn’t see him, didn’t even turn to look, and if she ever did, he knows she probably wouldn’t bat an eye at him.

He’d become a stranger to her in that way, just as how he treated her like a stranger some lifetime ago. But now he’s willing to change that. He _wants_ to change that.

“Steve.” He turns at the sound of his name, and he gives a small smile at the woman with straight blonde hair and brown eyes walking towards him. He gives her a nod.

“Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews and kudos very much appreciated! I hope you guys really stay tuned as the story goes on, as it will really present more of the characters' backgrounds and stories ('cause their individual stories and characters won't be unfolded in //just// one chapter in an instant, of course) so yeah!


	4. Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning for any medical inconsistencies.

To say Steve was nervous for coming back is _definitely_ an understatement.

He is horrified, of course, in every sense, and he thinks he has every right to. The last time he had been here was three years ago, and even as he stands in front of the hospital building, he can already point out various differences since the last time he had been here, however minute and minimal these differences are. He’s been gone for three years, which doesn’t seem like a big deal, but it is for him. His whole life had been built in this building, his whole past and his entire career had been built inside, and the people he once loved, the people he once shared a laugh, shared a life with had been from there.

And if he’s lucky enough, they’re still there.

But he doesn’t feel like he’s lucky, because three years ago, he left in such haste. His resignation was rushed, all of his patients transferred to a doctor less competent than he had been, and his personal life and relationships built within those four walls crumbled down as if it had been nothing— _he_ left them like they had been nothing. He had left when everything had been burning, and now that he’s coming back, how will they react? How will they see him, now that he’s about to beg for everyone to understand and accept him once again?

“Hey,” Steve turns and offers a small smile as Sharon Carter walks beside him. She smiles as she looks over at the hospital building and she takes a deep breath. “Well, this is much more different than Mercy West.”

If he’d known the doctors and nurses at SHIELD, he would know that rumors have already circulated about two new attending surgeons coming this afternoon today—which are, of course, him and Sharon. They had met when Steve fled to Seattle three years ago, after he left SHIELD, and subsequently, New York. He planned on starting over, rebuilding a new life for himself in another state; a new slate, as what he called it. Sharon worked in pediatric surgery, and they met when one of Steve’s first surgeries was on a thirteen-month-old baby with a congenital heart problem.

They hit it off right away, of course, something which made Steve both guilty and pleased. He’d been guilty, of course, because that would only show how he left one woman for another, and he’d been pleased because this is the kind of freedom that he had wanted for himself and for his life. Sharon had been the unfortunate one who was immediately there, and who had stuck beside him for the last three years until he finally decided it was due for him to finally make amends of his past, and tether back the relationships he had burned.

He was focused on trying to fix _one_ particular relationship, which he knows will be a long-shot, but an attempt is an attempt, and at this point, he thinks that _any_ bit of an attempt is better than no attempt at all.

“It’s been so long,” Steve says softly, and Sharon looks at him, as he sighs. “D’you think this is a smart move?”

“Well, it has to be since we’re practically jobless if we still go back to Seattle,” Sharon tells him, and he chuckles softly, looking at her beside him. “Come on, it’s gonna be fun. You’ve always told me how good of a hospital SHIELD is, especially the support systems and surgical facilities.”

Surgical facilities he can guarantee his flaunts, but with the support systems? He threw them out the window when he left, so he’s not entirely _sure_ Sharon would get the support system he had once flaunted with her before. Sharon had _no_ idea, of course, _didn’t_ know anything about his past with the people inside, about his past work and—possibly—current bad reputation in the hospital, which was why for her everything was just fine and smooth-sailing.

But it’s not for him. It’s a rocky ride from here on out for him. And in hindsight, maybe he should tell her, but he’s sure enough that when they get inside, she’ll somehow get the gist.

Steve takes a deep breath, and he feels Sharon intertwine their hands together, giving his hand a light and reassuring squeeze. “Ready to go back inside, Doctor Rogers?” she asks. Steve sighs, looking down at their intertwined hands between them.

Yup, she’ll _definitely_ get the gist of who Doctor Rogers was.

“Come on.” he says, taking a deep breath as they walk inside the hospital lobby together. Steve grips his bag tightly, but he doesn’t let go of Sharon’s hand. They take the elevator, and as if on a learned reflex, he immediately presses the floor number to the surgical floor, like it had been the most natural thing for him to do. Sharon smiles at him at that, and he sighs as the elevator door closes.

He hopes there weren’t any drastic renovations of the building.

“You think the doctors you’ve worked with before are still here?” Sharon asks, and Steve looks at her as he shrugs.

“I haven’t really been keeping in touch with most of them,” he admits softly. _Understatement of the year,_ he thinks to himself. “Though I sure hope so, at least. Clint Barton, he was the one from peds when I was still here. I’m sure he stayed, you know, since he’s pretty good, and he has lots of patients here.”

“Is he good to work with?” Sharon asks, and he nods.

“Yeah, he’s pretty damn good,” he answers with a smile. “He’s really good with kids, and he has a lot of specific fields, took up multiple fellowships to expand his range so he’s pretty good.”

“Good,” Sharon says, smiling. “What about your other colleagues from cardio? D’you think they’re still here?”

The last thing he heard about SHIELD New York is that the colleagues he _did_ know had left shortly after he did. Lance Hunter, after finally getting a break from Doctor Morse from trauma, left for London, and he knows because they just did keep in touch shortly after they both left. Leopold Fitz went to pursue yet again another fellowship program the last he heard, so he’s sure he’s not in SHIELD anymore.

“I think whoever’s in cardio now is someone whom I don’t know,” he answers. “But I’m sure whoever he is is good. Fury didn’t seem to be on a rush in hiring more cardio surgeons, so I figured things may have been going well for their current set of surgeons.”

He thinks of whether Natasha _did_ pursue cardio or not, and he wonders if she is one of those surgeons he had referred to as good, when he refers to the hospital’s current group of cardiac surgeons.

The elevator door to the surgical floor opens, and Steve holds his breath. He squeezes Sharon’s hand, as she grins at him. The floor is busy as usual, of course, residents with their interns walking around, attending surgeons with charts and nurses buzzing around the floor. Steve feels the familiar rush of SHIELD New York, something he had incredibly missed when he left for Seattle. The rush on the surgical floor here is different, and for him, it’s a _good_ different, as if inspiring and motivating to work, because the people you work with are just as inspired and motivated and good as you.

Despite his nerves and despite himself, Steve feels himself smiling. He is home.

“Doctor Rogers?” Steve turns and sees a tall man with long blonde hair tied into a ponytail looking at him. Steve immediately looks at his coat and the man follows his gaze as he sticks out a hand. “I’m Doctor Odinson, by the way, Thor Odinson. I was, uh, your replacement when you had resigned.”

Steve takes the man’s hand and shakes it as he smiles. “Steve Rogers, and this is Sharon Carter from peds, pleasure to meet you,” he says. Thor smiles and nods as he extends his hand to Sharon who shakes his hand as well. “Any chance you’re related to Doctor Freega Odinson?” Steve asks with a smile. Freega Odinson is a world renowned cardiothoracic surgeon from Norway, and Steve wouldn’t really be surprised if they were. The Odinsons are known for their talent in the cardiothoracic field of surgery. 

Thor chuckles and nods. “Yes, she’s my mother, both fortunately and _unfortunately,_ I suppose. Pressure’s on to do good all the time,” he says and Steve chuckles. “Anyway, I have to go. Prepping for a surgery and all, I think Doctor Fury’s expecting you two in his office?”

Steve nods. “Thank you, Doctor.” he says. Thor gives them a last wave before he finally walks off.

“Well, he seems good,” Sharon says, looking over at Steve. “He’s an Odinson.”

“He’s practically a one-man cardio team, a _beast,”_ Steve says, grinning as he feels giddy having the pleasure to work with someone as good as Thor Odinson. Man, the hospital has really improved a lot since he left. “Wait ‘till you meet—”

“Rogers?” Steve pauses, feeling his heart beating hard and rapidly against his chest when he hears the familiar voice. He purses his lips and turns to see Clint by the end of the hallway looking right at them, his eyebrows furrowed together as if in a confused expression, and in a split second, his face turned into a frown as he walks towards them. Sharon’s eyes widen, looking at Steve as she lets go of his hand, and Clint stops right in front of them.

“Clint.” Steve greets in a low voice.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing here?” he demands, his voice practically growling. “Don’t tell me _you’re_ the new attending surgeon everyone’s been talking about.”

Steve sighs. He knew it. “I…” he trails off and shakes his head. “I am, and so is Doctor Carter here for peds.”

“Sharon Carter,” Sharon says, trying to keep her voice even as she extends her hand to Clint whose eyes flicker towards Sharon. He narrows his eyes at her, as if inspecting her, and Sharon furrows her eyebrows slightly in confusion. “I-I’m the new attending pediatric surgeon.”

Clint takes a deep breath as he nods, and his jaw clenches. He takes Sharon’s hand and shakes it. “Sorry. Clint Barton,” he says, offering a small tight smile, and Sharon nods. Clint looks back at Steve. “You just got here?”

“Yeah, just a few moments ago. I’ve met...Thor? Thor Odinson.”

“Well he’s a hundred times better of a surgeon and a man than you,” Clint mutters, enough for both of them to hear. He takes another deep breath and shakes his head. “You ran into anyone else?” he asks quietly.

Steve swallows, because he knows who Clint is trying to refer to, who he’s trying to protect from Steve. He knows who _all_ of them are trying to protect, and while he’s thankful that Natasha has got all the support system she can possibly get, he’s of course terrified. He knows what each and every one of them is capable of doing when it comes to taking the strides of protecting their own. He knows they won’t take it professionally, nor too far personally, just as he is confident enough to believe that Natasha will not take their history as a factor to prevent them working professionally.

Although he wouldn’t blame her if she would. He wouldn’t blame _anyone_ if what he did interfered with how they dealt with him on a professional level. He deserved it. He deserved all of the hate they can muster.

“It’s only just been you and Thor, and nobody else.” Steve tells Clint quietly, and Clint backs down, still glaring at Steve.

Clint takes a step back as he takes a deep breath and he looks over at Sharon. “Fury’s been waiting for the two of you. Better not keep him waiting,” he says quietly, and his eyes flicker back at Steve’s. “And just...” Clint shakes his head. “Try not to run into her.”

Clint walks off, as Sharon looks up at Steve. “Well, he seems really...mean. Sucks I have to work with him.” she comments, rolling her eyes, as Steve sighs and shakes his head.

“He’s...he’s not usually like that,” Steve says quietly. “Y-you don’t understand.”

“And who was the _her_ he was telling you to not run into?”

Steve sighs and shakes his head. This isn’t the time to tell Sharon everything of his history yet, nor is it the time for him to tell her why everybody in this hospital hates him, and why Steve, while it _sucks,_ practically deserves each and every blow of hate on him.

“Can you go ahead over to Fury?” he asks, and she blinks up at him. “I just...you go ahead, alright?”

“Steve…” Sharon begins to say but Steve shakes his head.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Just...just go, alright? I’ll follow, I promise.”

Sharon furrows her eyebrows a bit, but she nods, pursing her lips and turning the hallway, asking one of the nurses for directions to the chief’s office. Steve watches as she turns the corner of the hallway, and he starts walking over towards the nurse’s station. Better make his appearance in front of his friends alone than with Sharon, right?

“Steve Rogers, as I live and breathe,” Steve sighs when he sees Tony facing him by the counter, and the doctors and nurses around him all turn to look at him. Bucky clenches his jaw beside Tony, and Sam Wilson, Tony’s resident under him, parts his mouth slightly in surprise, but stands firmly on his ground as Steve approaches them. “You’re the new guy everyone’s been talking about?”

“New cardio,” he says, nodding. He looks over at Bucky who is frowning at him and he sighs. He and Bucky were best friends, and so were him and Tony, but Steve supposes that when he _did_ leave and let the bridges he had here burn, all of it really did. “Good to see you guys again.”

“Couldn’t say the same,” Bucky says in a low voice, and Steve sighs, ducking his head as he shakes it. “What, Seattle’s not good for you anymore? You consider one thing as not good enough, you immediately leave.” His frown deepens. “And you know I’m not just talking about Seattle.”

Steve purses his lips. “I came back home.” he says softly, looking back up at his colleagues.

Sam lets out a low whistle as he shakes his head. “Nat wouldn’t be thrilled to hear about _that_ one.”

“If she hadn’t heard about it already.” Tony adds, and Sam raises an eyebrow in agreement.

“Nat...she’s still here?” he asks, ignoring the previous comments.

“The _fuck_ are you thinking? Of course she’s still here.” Bucky answers, closing the charts he’s filling and giving it back to the nurse. He turns to face Steve and glares at him, and Steve shakes his head.

“Buck…” Steve says softly.

 _“What?_ What are you gonna do, hope and pray to repair the damage you’ve done? Is that why you came back?” Bucky asks, walking over towards Steve as his index finger pokes on his chest. “You think you can just prance in here like you had before and just dip your _shit_ back in her business? No. No, you can’t do that.”

“Barnes.” Tony says in a warning tone, as he observes nurses and doctors, even patients and families already looking at them. He lays a hand on Bucky’s shoulder as he shrugs it off violently, his eyes not leaving Steve’s.

“You have the goddamn nerve to show your face and have those kinds of hopes when you couldn’t even _face_ her before you broke her heart,” Bucky says, taking a step back and shaking his head. “That’s the stupidest _goddamn_ move you’ve ever done in your life, Rogers.”

“Barnes.” Sam joins Tony, as they both ready to pull Bucky back in case he advances further.

“Shoulda stayed in Seattle,” Bucky tells him, and he raises his voice. “You shoulda stayed where you fled like a _fucking_ coward.”

Bucky walks away as Steve sighs, closing his eyes and pursing his lips. _I deserve it,_ he thinks. _All the hate they can muster for what I did, and for what happened, I deserve it._ He opens his eyes as he looks at everyone else looking right at him. He’s familiar with some of them, have operated and worked alongside them, so he’s pretty sure that whatever had been said by Bucky, they all concur.

He wants to say that his decision to come home was a mistake, but he wants to be firm with this decision. He wants to make things right, _fix_ things like what Bucky said, and if enduring all of this will help make things right, then so be it.

Tony takes a deep breath, lowering his head to shake it as he looks up again and nods over at Steve. “You should go see Fury,” he tells Steve. “Just...try not to let _this_ get in your head, alright? All of this...it’s a conflated conflict, and you _have_ to trust me on that.” Tony looks at Steve pointedly. “Just go head straight to Fury.”

Steve clenches his jaw and nods. He nods at Tony and Sam, who eyes at him warily still, as Steve turns and walks back to the elevator. He stops in his tracks, however, when he sees a woman in scrubs, a _familiar_ woman in scrubs coming from the hall where he knows the operating rooms are, looking right at him as well.

“Doctor Rogers.” the woman—Wanda Maximoff—says. He remembers her, of course, when she had still been an intern under Natasha when she had been a resident. He wonders if she’s still under her mentorship, but he immediately thinks it so, judging by the way she looks at him in utter disbelief and surprise, as she walks towards him.

“Doctor Maximoff.” Steve greets coolly, because he knows what’s coming. He knows it’s going to be the third time he’ll get himself in an argument over what his business was in coming back, and he hasn’t even been in the hospital for half an hour. Wanda stops a few feet away from him, her eyebrows knitted together as she looks up at him.

“You’re the new cardiac surgeon, the returning one like what the nurses have been saying,” she says, and he nods. Wanda scoffs and shakes her head. “I couldn’t believe it.”

Steve sighs and looks away, honestly not wanting to be in the _same_ far end of yet another comment about him not deserving to come back. “You just got here? Do you know who the other one is?” she asks, and Steve looks back at the resident.

“I do. Doctor Sharon Carter,” Steve answers. “I worked with her in Seattle.”

Wanda hums, narrowing her eyes in inspection. “Worked with her? Are you guys together?” she asks, raising an eyebrow and Steve sighs.

“It’s none of your business, Wanda.” he says quietly, and Wanda furrows her eyebrows.

“Not tryna get in the business, but...at least let me say, you have some nerve walking in this hospital, reapplying here and bringing your new girlfriend with you after _barely_ breaking up with your old one,” she says, and she shrugs. “Though it’s quite surprising...you growing a nerve, ‘cause you barely grew a spine when you and Nat were together. Guess she was right.”

Steve’s eyebrows furrow slightly, his heart beating faster inside his chest. “You’re still Nat’s resident?” he asks, and she nods.

“We just finished an operation,” she responds. “Neuro, by the way, if you have yet to reorient yourself with things around here. She’s in neuro, one of the best ones here.”

He never doubted it. “Does she know?” he asks quietly, and Wanda sighs.

“Well you know how gossip works here,” she replies quietly. “But you also know how _she_ is. She won’t believe in it unless she sees it, and I’m _sure_ you haven’t seen her since we’ve been in the O.R. for hours. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know you and your new girlfriend are the new surgeons in here.”

“Sharon’s not…” Steve trails off, and he sighs. She’s not his girlfriend, but they act like they’re together, but she _knows_ that they're not together. And he knows it's confusing, maybe considering the fact that they even _live_ together in New York in their new apartment—so what _are_ they, really? “I just...what time will she be out?”

“She has a back-to-back today,” Wanda responds, and she shakes her head and sighs, as if calming herself. “Doctor Rogers, I...I know it’s really none of my business, your relationship, or...non-existing one in present’s case. I also know you wanna see her badly and I, much like anyone here, don’t have the right to try and stop you. But...” Wanda looks at him with wide eyes as she sighs. “Just give her a day.”

“Wanda…”

“It’s been a hell of a day for her, and, well, you know how she is when she gets all worked-up and crabby. She’s been on a double shift, she was on-call, she’s had _tons_ of patients today, and she hasn’t…” Wanda trails off, choosing to discontinue her sentence, and she sighs. “Just for today. Doctor Rogers, just for today.”

Is it a bad day? Bad timing? Bad surgery? Does she have a plan on how to break the news to Natasha so when they see each other, the blow is softened enough for her to move past the initial shock?

“I will,” Steve says quietly, giving Wanda a nod, and the resident sighs in relief. “Just for today.”

Wanda raises her arms in almost surrender. “It’s all I ask on her behalf as her resident.” she says, and with that, she walks away and Steve watches Wanda approach what he thinks is a family of a patient sitting in the waiting area. Steve sighs when he sees the family embrace Wanda. _Must have been a success,_ Steve thinks.

He presses the button to the elevator, and he steps in as he takes a deep breath. He proceeds with the meeting with the chief of surgery, Doctor Nick Fury, who welcomes both him and Sharon. They are given assignments, a reorientation of the hospital, the people there, their duties, and signed their contracts. It’s nothing Steve hasn’t heard, and it’s nothing he hasn’t done either.

“Doctor Rogers,” Nick Fury says, capturing his attention after he signs the contract. “A private word, please?”

Steve looks over at Sharon who sighs in almost sheer disbelief. She’s probably sick of the secrecy, of the way they’re both being treated upon their first day, and he doesn’t blame her. But it’s not the time to tell her of everything either, not yet. So he nods, as Sharon gets up from her seat, and one of the nurses escort her out for the full-on tour and orientation of the hospital. Steve had turned the tour down, wanting to steer clear of whoever else might be mad at him for being here (which is more than half of the surgical staff, he presumes), and also because he’s already familiar with the hospital. He’d practically grown as a doctor in this hospital, and SHIELD isn’t a particularly easy place to forget.

“Heard you’ve ran in to your previous colleagues,” Nick starts, pouring himself a glass of water, and Steve clasps his hands together, resting it on the table. “And I’ve heard these encounters weren’t as good.”

“It wasn’t something I never expected either,” Steve admits quietly, looking up at the chief. “It’s just harder to take when what you’ve imagined turned out to be real.”

“And what _did_ you imagine, exactly?” Nick asks, and Steve sighs.

“Exactly what happened.” he replies. Nick eyes him carefully, as he leans toward the table, clasping his hands over the table and looking intently at Steve.

“Doctor, I don’t want to interfere with your personal life, or how you deal with your problems that, might I add, you’ve created in the first place,” he says, and Steve nods. It’s not like the man is wrong. “And I’m going to say the same to Barnes after this, but I hope this time around you’d learn how to separate what’s personal and what’s professional. And I hope you’ve come up with better ways of dealing with your personal problems that don’t necessarily involve a sudden resignation over a phone call, and fleeing should it arise next time.”

Steve nods. Three years ago, he fled in haste, resigned and left his position and job so swiftly it crippled the surgical department, all because he thought it was the only way he could solve and deal with the problem he and Natasha were having. There were consequences that occurred after his departure, both in a personal and professional level, but now he’s willing to make amends for all of it, for all the mistakes he had made.

Nick leans back in his seat, not taking his eyes off of Steve. “Have you ran into Natasha yet?” he asks, and Steve shakes his head, his eyes flickering back to the chief.

“I think I was warned enough by many to stay away, including her resident.” Steve answers, and Nick hums and nods.

“She’s a good one now, a good neurosurgeon, one of the best,” Nick says, and he nods. “You trained a good one right there.”

Steve huffs out a chuckle and shakes his head. “She’s not in cardio, so it’s not under my training she grew to be good,” he tells Nick. “It should be Banner you would be praising for the training and learnings she got.”

“Maybe,” Nick says, shrugging. “But it’s because of you she was determined to be the best in neuro. May it be out of spite or not, she became the best. She _is_ the best, probably surpassing Banner right now because of her double fellowship.”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Double fellowship?” he asks, and Nick hums. “But isn’t she an attending now?”

“She went straight into fellowship after you left, Doctor,” Nick says, smirking. “Started with pediatric for a year, went to neuro-oncology and cerebrovascular, then went back here. She’s practicing more of the latter two now.”

Steve can’t help a small smile at that. Despite everything, he’s proud of her and what she’d become. There was no doubt she was good, no doubt she’d be one of the best surgeons this hospital has—one of their best assets. He’d seen that in her when she was still his resident, the pure and raw talent and skill she has and the sheer determination she has for saving lives and doing her best.

She deserves to be recognized as her own person, and not be attributed to him or Banner who trained her. She’s just _that_ good.

“And there’s no doubt that someday you will run into her, or you both will _have_ to work on a surgery together,” Nick tells him. “And when that time comes, I expect full professionalism from the both of you. I’d say the same for her if she were here, but I know she has an ongoing surgery for one of her regular patients.” Nick smiles. “Have you seen the board? She does the perfect keyhole craniotomy.”

Steve chuckles and shakes his head. “Didn’t get the chance to glance at it,” he says. He gives Nick a small smile. “You know despite everything, it’s good to be back, Nick.”

Nick nods. “And it’s good to have you back too, Rogers.” he says. Steve huffs out a chuckle.

“You’re the only one who ever believes that.”

Both Steve and Sharon squeezed all necessary meetings, trainings and tours for the day, as they are expected to work the following day. By the end of everything, Steve and Sharon pass by the operating board, and Steve pauses to look at it.

There she is: _N. Romanoff,_ the main surgeon for a metastatic brain tumor surgery, assisted by Wanda Maximoff in O.R. 3. He looks at his watch. She must be done by now.

He turns and sees Clint looking back at him. Steve clenches his jaw and nods in acknowledgment before taking Sharon’s hand as they walk toward the elevator. He vaguely registers Clint’s quick footsteps behind them as he presses the button to the elevator to go down.

“I’ll just have a quick trip to the bathroom.” Sharon tells him once they reach the ground floor lobby. Steve nods as he waits by the couches in the lobby, and when he turns his head, he feels his heart skip a beat when he sees a redheaded woman walk out of the elevator and walk straight to the exit.

She might have seen him, because he watches as she tilts her head in his direction, but if she did, she didn’t make a move to stop and recognize him. She is carrying a child, tucked in her arms, so for a second, he thought it might not have been her, but there’s no mistaking the dark red wavy hair and bright green eyes that he’d grown to be so familiar with in the past. There’s no mistaking that the woman is Natasha Romanoff, a woman who had a hold of his heart in the past, and somehow still has it until now.

He doesn’t say anything, but he so painfully wanted to, as she disappears out of his sight when she turns a corner before he can even release the breath he’s holding, and then she’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews, comments and kudos appreciated! This will also be my last post for the year, so I’m greeting everyone a Happy New Year!


	5. Great Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, happy new year to everyone! Here's the next update for this work! :) Again, fair warning for any medical inconsistencies ahead. Enjoy!

Natasha opens the door and lets out a relieved and exasperated huff, her hands resting on her hips as she looks at her younger sister who grins widely at her sister. “You volunteered to watch over my daughter, and now _you’re_ the one who’s late.” she scolds lightly, her eyebrows furrowing and frowning slightly.

Yelena raises her hands. “Alright, now you’re sounding _exactly_ like Papa.” she says, smirking, as Natasha huffs, stepping aside to let her sister in. Yelena laughs and steps in, pressing a kiss on her sister’s cheek before making her way to the living room and putting her bag down on the couch.

“Sarah, Auntie Lena is here!” Natasha calls, closing the door and walking over to her daughter’s room. Yelena smiles when she hears a soft squeal, and Natasha emerges out of the little girl’s room with the toddler in her arms.

“Auntie Lena!” Sarah exclaims, extending her arms as they approach Yelena. Yelena chuckles, taking the toddler in her arms and pressing a kiss on the girl’s forehead.

“Good morning, _malyshka,_ ready to have fun with your favorite auntie?” she asks, and the little girl giggles just as Natasha rushes back in her bedroom to gather all her things. “Your Mama needs to go to work and save lives, so we’re going to have tons of fun.”

“And by tons of fun, I’m sure it means a _safe_ and healthy kind of fun, yeah?” Natasha asks, raising an eyebrow at her sister as she puts on her coat and slings her bag over her shoulder.

“Not entirely ‘cause you only see _me_ rarely,” Yelena says, raising an eyebrow at Natasha challengingly as Natasha narrows her eyes at her sister. Sarah giggles, and it automatically erases the frown off of Natasha’s face as she leans in to press a kiss on the toddler’s cheek. “And don’t admit you liked that I volunteered to babysit her on your regular shift. I did it so I can spend more time with my niece.”

“I’m not even gonna ask,” Natasha says, smirking. “You must love me that much.”

“That I do, _sestra,”_ Yelena responds, and she nods at her. “Go. You’re gonna be late for work.”

“Bye bye, baby, I’ll see you later, okay?” Natasha says, as Sarah extends her arms so Natasha can embrace her daughter. Sarah wraps her arms around her mother’s neck as Natasha inhales Sarah’s hair, smelling of vanilla and milk, as she presses soft kisses on her head and cheeks. “Be good to Auntie Lena, okay? I love you.”

“Love you, Mommy.” Sarah replies softly. Natasha hands her back to Yelena as she brushes her daughter’s blonde hair smoothly, giving the toddler a sweet smile.

“Be good at work,” Yelena tells her sister softly, smiling. “Call me if you miss us.”

Natasha rolls her eyes playfully, giving her sister a one-armed hug. “I think I should be the one telling you that,” she tells Yelena who scoffs playfully. “No more McDonald’s, okay?”

“We’ll try.” Yelena responds, and Natasha shakes her head, giving them one last wave before she heads out the door and down the apartment building and in her car.

She arrives at the hospital at the exact time of her supposed time-in, and by the time she reaches the nurses’ counter in the surgical floor to retrieve patient charts and reports, she spots Wanda talking quietly with Bucky, Tony and Clint, who all turn when she arrives at the floor.

“Well, someone’s not here with the little princess,” Bucky remarks, and Natasha chuckles, walking over to the counter to time in. “Your sister got her or something?”

“Yelena volunteered to get her,” Natasha corrects lightly, as Wanda gives her the patient charts. “I don’t even know what got in my sister’s head, but I can’t say I’m ungrateful for at least one day of freedom from toddler care.”

“So that means you can have lunch with us?” Clint asks, and Natasha hums, nodding as she flips open the first chart on top of the pile Wanda gave.

“If I can make it out alive from the surgery before lunch,” she replies, reading the patient charts of an Alison Sloan, a 27-year-old patient diagnosed with multiple brain tumors and is in need of an occipital craniotomy to remove a large tumor. “Wanda, ask one of your interns to scrub in Miss Sloan’s operation. We’ll be using CUSA and stealth, so it might be nice the interns might have an experience in learning from it.”

“Another cancer patient?” Tony asks, raising an eyebrow, and Natasha shrugs, closing the charts and handing it over to Wanda, who looks at her expectantly, as if waiting for an answer: Is Alison Sloan’s tumors benign or malignant?

“We’re not yet sure. Preoperative diagnosis shows multiple tumors on the brain, but we have to open her up, perform biopsy and all that to find out,” Natasha replies. “Which is why I said I _hope_ I make it out alive and on time for lunch.”

“The field of neurology never ceases to amaze me,” Bucky comments, shaking his head as he gives Natasha a smirk. “D’you ever wish you’re somewhere else _other_ than neuro?”

“Never,” Natasha answers, flashing a smile, as Bucky chuckles. “You have to ask my resident if _she_ wishes she were somewhere else training for something less exciting than neuro.”

“Hold the _fuck_ up, Romanoff,” Tony says holding a finger up, and Wanda laughs just as Natasha raises an eyebrow at Tony challengingly. “You don’t get to say neuro is the best field of all? Just ‘cause you’ve never tried plastics.”

“Nat wanted a suicidal field and she got it,” Clint says, chuckling. “It’s _her_ choice.”

“You wanted cardio and then went to neuro,” Tony says in disbelief, shaking his head, as Natasha smiles, tilting her head at Tony. “If Maximoff turns out to _be_ the next you—”

“Literally the _greatest_ honor of all time,” Wanda says, and Natasha grins as they high-five. Bucky and Clint chuckle as Tony rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “But I’ll never be as good as her.”

“You’ll be better,” Natasha says, winking at her resident. “Now if you excuse _us,_ we have a brain to fix.” She slings her bag again and carries the rest of the charts on the counter. “Text me for lunch, Clint.”

“You got it.”

Natasha instructs Wanda to pick an intern and meet her in Alison Sloan’s room for the briefing and preoperative preparations, just as Natasha walks toward the attendings lounge. She opens her locker, changes into her scrubs, puts her white coat on and ties her hair into a ponytail. As she closes her locker, she notices that two of the usually empty lockers (the doors are usually open all the time) are now closed and locked. She furrows her eyebrows and narrows her eyes in confusion.

 _Oh,_ she thinks. _Right. Two new attendings._

Natasha gathers Alison’s charts and looks back at it, wondering who these lockers may belong to. Rumors have been spreading around, of course, on who one of them may be—as nurses voted for the cardio surgeon being either Lance Hunter, Bobbi Morse’s ex or Steve Rogers, _her_ ex, and the winning vote apparently belonging to Lance Hunter. But she wonders who the other one is? A new pediatric surgeon, they said, perhaps also from Seattle.

But Natasha shakes her head and takes a deep breath. She has surgeries to perform, patients to attend to. The last thing she wants to find herself worrying about is the identities of these two new mystery attendings, even with the impending danger that one of them could be a stranger from her past.

So she walks to Alison Sloan’s room, and finds Wanda with one of her interns, Riri Williams, also walking toward the patient’s room. Natasha nods at Riri, who smiles and nods back, as they all enter the room. Riri states the patient stats and diagnoses, while Wanda explains the procedure Natasha will be doing, as Natasha does her usual routine of observing the patient and her family. She has a husband, Ryan Sloan, as he introduced himself before Riri started on the stat report. Natasha observes no kids yet, and Natasha thinks, the lack of children could be attributed to the potentially malignant tumor Alison has in her brain, which could be a sign of cancer.

She was asked about this by Ryan himself, on what her opinion is on the initial scans of his wife’s brain tumors, if these tumors can be a sign of cancer or simply just tumors. “I can’t say for sure, since tumors, whether malignant or benign, cancerous or not, appear all the same in ultrasounds and other scans. So we need to open her up, have it taken to biopsy to really double check,” Natasha explains. “From there, then we’ll have our possible courses of treatments.”

“If it’s...if it’s cancerous, what can it mean?” Alison asks. “I mean...why? And what happened?”

Natasha purses her lips. “Until we can see the biopsy results, I can’t say for sure what...type of cancer it could be, if it were cancerous tumors,” she answers carefully. “As for the what…” She shakes her head, offering them a small and sad smile. “There’s really no direct _known_ cause of cancer apart from it being really hereditary, and maybe because of the environment you’re directly exposed too.”

Natasha watches as Alison looks helplessly at Ryan who sighs and takes her hand in his, giving it a light squeeze as he gives a small smile to his wife. “So it’s just bad luck, huh?” Ryan asks quietly, and Alison sighs. “These things just...just happen to those who least deserve it.”

“Oh, shut it,” Alison chides lightly, chuckling as Ryan smiles sadly at his wife. “Nobody deserves cancer.”

“Especially not you,” he answers. “You’ve been good, and you’ve been kind and loving.” He looks at Natasha. “My wife doesn’t deserve to die.”

Natasha nods. “Nobody does,” she repeats Alison’s words. Alison looks at Natasha and smiles, as Natasha smiles. “We’ll be taking her and prep her for the operation. You can be with her until a certain area before entering the O.R., and you can go wait for her there.” She looks at Ryan who nods. Natasha nods at both Wanda and Riri who move beside Alison’s bedsides to prepare her for mobilization. “Go prep Miss Sloan. I’ll see you at O.R. 2.”

Natasha gives them all a small smile before she exits the room. She takes a deep breath as she walks back to the attendings lounge, removing her white coat and retrieving her operating cap. She closes her eyes as she redoes her ponytail, making it tighter and ensuring no hair is on her face. She opens her eyes again and nods at herself.

 _My wife doesn’t deserve to die._ Ryan Sloan’s words echo inside her head as she closes her locker and walks out of the lounge and into the operating area. She holds on to these kinds of words, making it a motivation for herself to do her best at all times, taking these words into her heart and into her head so she can view the person she’s operating on as a human who has a past, a history and a life outside the hospital. And it motivates her to do her best to make sure everyone gets out of the hospital alive.

Steve taught her that. She chuckles inwardly. Even after all these years, apart from Sarah, he still has a mark in her life.

She moves to look at the operating board, and she feels her heart stop, almost skip a beat. She feels her whole body becoming numb, her blood running cold and hear ears ringing as if she couldn’t hear anything in her surroundings anymore. Because _the_ certain man who had long gone become a stranger to her life three years ago when he walked away, who still had a mark in her life that is not her daughter— _their_ daughter—is back, and his name is on the board, performing an endarterectomy with angioplasty on a 57-year-old female patient in O.R.

 _S. Rogers,_ the board says, as if mocking her. _S. Rogers, assisted by D. Johnson._

It’s true, what they said. And she wants to laugh bitterly as she shakes her head, because it’s not Lance Hunter who had come back in the hospital, and it’s not Bobbi Morse who will be enduring the pain of a returning ex-lover. It’s Steve Rogers who had come back, and it’s _her_ who will be the one to endure the pain of a returning ex-lover. A returning stranger.

“Natasha?”

She whips her head, and her eyes widen when she sees a familiar face. “Sharon?” she asks at the blonde woman, who is grinning so widely when Natasha had uttered her name.

“Nat, it’s been so long,” Sharon says, smiling as she takes Natasha for an embrace, and she embraces back, laughing softly. She and Sharon have gone in medical school together, have been friends even before they became interns, and now she’s here? “Oh my goodness, look at _you,_ ever so beautiful as before.”

“You too,” Natasha responds, laughing softly. “God, _wait,_ you’re one of the new surgeons here?”

“I am, yeah, I’m in peds now,” she replies, still grinning widely. “I just moved here with my boyfriend, and...hey, you might know him since he worked here before? Steve Rogers?”

_What?_

“He’s the new cardio surgeon, the one in O.R. 1,” Sharon says, looking over at the board, as, once again, Natasha feels as if her soul is leaving her body. Her smile slowly fades away as she stares at her old friend, and now-colleague, in utter disbelief. _Sharon Carter’s boyfriend is Steve Rogers, huh?_ “Oh, you have an operation at 2.” Sharon’s eyes widen as she looks back at Natasha. “You’re in neuro?”

Natasha blinks slowly, swallowing down the bile rising in her throat as she forces a nod. “Y-yeah, I am,” she says, and she gives Sharon a small smile. “I am...in neuro, yeah.”

“Knew you’d always go there. You’ve always said how much you wanted to go to neuro,” she says, looking back at the board. Natasha furrows her eyebrows slightly as she looks at Sharon, waiting for the shoe to drop, _waiting_ for Sharon to say something, anything, that she might know about her apparently present boyfriend and her old friend. Sharon sighs in relief as she smiles. “Damn, Steve didn’t tell me he used to work with you here. And there I was going _on_ and _on_ about my friends in medical school, wondering where they could possibly be. I could’ve sworn I’ve mentioned your name, like, more than twice.”

_Steve didn’t tell her, huh?_

It hurt, of course, because it probably meant she wasn’t a story worth telling to a new girlfriend. She was a past not meant to be spoken of, or addressed to. She’s not worth even a second to tell a story, and it _hurt,_ whether she admits it loudly or not. She knew he hated her, of course she did, as evidenced by their last conversation, their last argument before he left, before he walked away. She knew he hated her when he walked away, but she didn’t know he hated her _that_ much he didn’t even at least show a bit of remorse or regret for leaving, won’t even bat an eyelash at her even from afar, won’t even spare a second to tell even bad shit about her.

But she sucks the pain up, and takes a deep breath. She knows about this, the hate and lack of remorse. She’s reminded of it everyday when she sees her daughter, but she supposes that he’s seen lesser in Sarah as each day passes. She is not her father. She is loving, and kind and beautiful because she got it from her. So she takes no remorse for him either. If he thinks she’s not worth telling to others, then it’s only fair she does the same as well.

It’s the very least thing she can do for herself.

“Yeah, well I’ve been here since internship,” Natasha just says, as she smiles at Sharon. “I gotta go, though. I’ve a surgery in 2, and I need to check if my resident and her intern have prepped.”

“Alright,” Sharon says, and she gives Natasha another warm hug as well, one that _now,_ Natasha is very reluctant to return, but she does it anyway. “I’ll see you around, Nat.”

“You too.”

She walks in O.R. 2 and scrubs in, as she takes a deep breath, closing her eyes and shaking her head in an attempt to balance herself, to ease her in the amount of new knowledge that she had acquired in the last ten minutes or so. Her ex is back, who is now in a relationship with her old friend, who apparently knew _nothing_ about his past. It opens old wounds, for sure, at the same time, it creates new ones, but she refuses the pain to create new wounds. She refuses to be let down because of it, because of _him._ She refuses to let her mind wander, to let her heart suffer, just because of a man who walked away years ago and now has come back. He may have come back to the hospital, but it didn’t mean he’s meant to come back in _her_ life too. There’s a difference, she thinks, and it’s a difference she’s all for reinforcing.

But she puts it aside as she lifts her hands and turns the faucet off. She has a life to save. She has a woman waiting for her to heal her and return her to her husband. So she walks in the room, allowing the nurses to put in her mask, gloves and her gown, as Wanda and Riri look up and nod at her. She renews her focus, and right now, her focus is to save a life.

And so they localize the tumors, all of it, Natasha believes, to be above the interhemispheric fissure, just like what she suspected. She takes both Wanda and Riri through the procedure step by step, gently instructing them to hand her various equipment, prepare the CUSA and stealth so she can properly demonstrate a ventriculostomy. She moves away slightly, allowing the nurses, Wanda and Riri to put the operating microscope in front of her, and everyone’s eyes, but Natasha’s move to the screen, as Natasha continues to explain the obtaining of the tumor for a biopsy.

_Please let this be benign._

But it isn’t, as they find out fifteen minutes after extracting it, and Natasha sighs in disbelief, shaking her head, as they tell her the results: a malignant brain tumor, metastatic, adenocarcinoma compatible with breast cancer.

_Nobody deserves cancer._

“What’s our course of action, Doctor Romanoff?” one of the nurses ask. Because usually, this is a dead end, and she feels like it _is._

_As if this morning couldn’t get any rougher._

“We debulk it using CUSA,” Natasha responds with a sigh. “Doctor Williams, can you recount for me the next steps?”

Riri was able to do so, and Natasha, despite the situation, praises the intern. She removes the tumor, proceeds with the washing and bipolar cautery for hemostasis. She treats the wound, leaves and adjusts the catheter and closes in without further complications. She allows Wanda to do the final closing, instructs her and Riri to take care of Alison for post-op as she exits the O.R. after washing. She spots him, and tells him the findings, and allows him a few moments of renewed grief, perhaps heavier than what she’s feeling for her patient.

It’s always difficult, of course, whenever she’s in the position to tell the family that their loved one had died on the table, encountered complications, or has a far more extensive sickness than they had imagined. It’s never easy telling them their loved one is dying or is gone. It’s never easy watching them crumble, and it doesn’t make it easier when you tell them the next course of treatments, as sometimes she can practically see them calculating the expenses in their heads. It’s never easy having to break the bad news to them.

So she walks away after Ryan asks if he can see her. She gives him the instructions, Alison’s recovery room number, and he nods in acknowledgment as she walks off to the hallway. It’s never easy at all. Even as she did absolutely nothing wrong, it’s never easy having to watch them crumble and grieve.

And it’s never made easy when there are far _more_ personal things added to her day.

“Doctor Rogers and Doctor Carter are _together?”_ Natasha closes her eyes and ducks as she passes by two nurses in the hallway whispering loudly at each other. “The _nerve_ of him to bring her _here,_ where his ex is.”

“She doesn’t know, Doctor Carter doesn’t know,” the nurse replies, and Natasha shakes her head, because it’s as if she’s invisible and nobody recognizes her as they continue to whisper. “And _worse,_ she and Doctor Romanoff are apparently friends.”

“Well, he has a type.”

It doesn’t stop, of course, not even as she puts her cap back in her locker in the attendings lounge and puts her white coat back. She checks her phone for any messages from Yelena, but she only received those from Clint texting her for lunch. So she takes the elevator to the cafeteria, extremely drained and tired from _one_ operation (to be fair, it’s operations like these that make her question her choice of field) and from Sharon and Steve and everything else. Once she got to the cafeteria, as she passes, the comments and rumors and gossips don’t stop.

And the last thing she honestly _needs_ is for others to talk about the broken relationship they had, further conflated by an additional innocent party with the name of Sharon Carter.

_“How did Doctor Romanoff react?”_

_“Was it that bad what happened to him he didn’t even care to tell Doctor Carter?”_

_“Do you think he knows about the kid?”_

Natasha rolls her eyes, and she gives a small tight smile when she spots Clint, Bucky, Tony and Thor on one table. Clint waves at her, and she raises her hand in acknowledgment as she pushes her way through the tables to theirs.

“I got you your usual,” Clint says, pushing the tray towards her as she sits beside Bucky. He turns and gives her a smile and she sighs, nudging his shoulder gently as he chuckles. “Ham sandwich and mashed potatoes, thought you could use an extra.”

“How was surgery?” Bucky asks, and Natasha sighs, running a hand through her hair.

“Another cancer patient,” she replies, and Clint, Bucky and Tony wince as she shrugs. “Metastatic brain tumor, adenocarcinoma that _could_ be compatible with breast cancer so there’s that. I just told the husband about it of course. Not the easiest thing to do, as usual.”

“It never is.” Clint mumbles, munching on his sandwich.

“As if today can’t get any worse,” Natasha mumbles and sighs especially as her friends looked at one another almost sheepishly. “And I’m sure you guys have heard plenty.”

“Oh, I’ve _heard_ plenty, alright,” Tony says, as Natasha takes a bite from her sandwich. “You and Carter go way back?”

“And she doesn’t know about you?” Thor asks, and Natasha looks at him. “It’s what I heard. Though I-I’m sort of confused, I mean you two _were_ together before, right?”

“They have a kid together,” Tony answers. “One that...I seem to recall Rogers doesn’t know?” Natasha shakes her head. It’s not like he even got the _chance_ to know she was even pregnant before he walked away.

“Sarah, your little girl? She is his?” Thor asks, and Natasha raises an eyebrow in confirmation as she chews her food.

“He doesn't know,” she replies quietly with a shrug. “Not like he ever got the chance to.”

“Jesus, this is a mess,” Clint says, and looks around at the cafeteria as he leans closely. “And everyone’s talking about them, about _you.”_

“Shit things, I suppose.” Natasha mumbles, and Clint snorts and shrugs.

“I miss the days where more than half of the staff rooted for Hunter to come back,” Bucky says, giving his friends a withered look. “Morse would take it easier.”

“I’m taking it easy,” Natasha defends herself quietly, and her friends raise their eyebrows disbelievingly at her. “I’m _trying,_ okay? I’m…” she trails off, taking a deep breath. _I’m trying to keep it together._ “I’m not breaking down or whatever, and don’t expect me to.”

“Wouldn’t take it against you if you will,” Bucky tells her, and Natasha sighs, shaking her head as she starts digging in her mashed potatoes. “I mean...we took his presence against him yesterday.” Natasha raises an eyebrow.

“Yesterday? They’ve been here since _yesterday?_ Was that why Wanda was freaking out, and _you_ were acting weird before I left?” she asks, looking right at Clint. She then furrows her eyebrows slightly and looks at Bucky. “You’ve seen Steve and Sharon since yesterday? And I didn’t?”

“Would you have wanted to, though?” Bucky asks, and Natasha frowns as Bucky huffs out a breath. “I _did_ run into Steve once when he came in and that’s it, I _promise.”_

“You didn’t even tell me?” she asks quietly, her eyes wide as she looks at Bucky who just blinks at her.

“I thought...I thought your sister already told you he was coming,” Bucky says honestly, and Natasha’s frown deepens as Bucky’s eyes widen. “That’s why she volunteered to babysit? ‘Cause she’s heard about Steve coming in.”

“You told my sister that my ex was coming in but you didn’t even tell _me?”_ Natasha asks, and she feels her chest tightening, her heart constricting and a warm, fiery feeling rising up in her throat that’s making the corners of her eyes sting, her breathing more rapid and ragged if only to calm herself down, if only to quell the rising fiery feeling down.

Tony nudges Bucky with his elbow, as Bucky winces. “Well, I...I told her of the situation, but she came up with babysitting Sarah and staying in your apartment for the whole day,” he says, and he frowns. “I’d thought she told you _why_ she’d be coming, and...well, I thought it’d be better if you hear it from her instead of any one of us.”

“Jesus, Bucky, I’m _not_ that fragile,” Natasha tells him. “Having Sarah here at the same time Steve would be won’t break me, and _hearing_ Steve would be back here _won’t_ break me either!”

“He doesn’t _deserve_ to get to know her, not after what he did, and you know it,” Bucky says, and Natasha sighs frustratedly. “Yelena and I talked about it and we both agreed on at least _that._ And everyone else in this table agrees too.” Everyone nods.

“You didn’t even ask what I thought about it?” Natasha asks, her eyes wide as she looks at Bucky who sighs and ducks his head. “You’re supposed to be on _my_ side and let me figure out what _I_ think is good for me and my daughter especially in situations like these.”

“But isn’t _this_ the best?” Clint asks and Natasha immediately shakes her head.

“No,” she answers. “Because that’s gonna be like running, and I refuse to run away from this, away from _him._ I am not his victim, and I am no lesser of a woman than before he left.”

“Nat, we’re not thinking you as lesser—” Bucky starts, but Natasha huffs and shakes her head.

“That’s exactly what you _did,_ Buck,” Natasha exclaims to him, and she feels her heart beating fast and loud against her chest as she feels frustration and tons and _tons_ of emotion rising inside her. “You thought I wouldn’t be able to think straight, or I wouldn’t fulfill my responsibility as a mother just because he’s there so you asked someone to take my daughter away from me. I don’t give a shit if he’s fucking another woman who happens to be my friend, I don’t care about _any_ of those that concerns him, but you don’t get to treat me like I’m sort of a helpless chic you have the responsibility to help just because my _goddamn_ ex-boyfriend is there!”

Natasha slams her hand on the table as she stands up and walks out of the cafeteria. She can feel everyone’s eyes on her as she shakes her head and huffs out a breath. She knows she made a scene. She knows what the next gossip will be, but right now, she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care because she has a patient who just found out she has cancer, the father of her daughter had just come back with her old friend who happened to be _his_ new girlfriend, and she just found out one of her _best_ friends and her sister had been coddling her, keeping things away from her, thinking as if they can save her from future pain when they only made it _worse._

They think of her as fragile? She is anything _but._

“Nat!” She hears Bucky call her name, but she just shakes her head, deciding against using the elevator and instead use the emergency exit staircase. She pushes the door to the emergency exit open, her feet moving fast down the steps as she mentally counts the floors she’s moving past until she can reach the attendings’ lounge. She doesn’t hear someone else follow behind her, and she figures she might have lost Bucky, or _anyone_ who could possibly be following her after the scene she caused, but she figured it wouldn’t be too long before Bucky would find her, or _anyone_ would find her.

She just wants to be alone. She _needs_ to be alone so she can process everything, or she will feel absolutely overwhelmed. She needs to process everything: Bucky, her sister, her _best_ friends going behind her back, making decisions for her concerning _her_ daughter, treating her like a fragile, disabled, unfit mother. Alison Sloan, another patient with cancer. She had told her about the situation, told her husband about it, yet again she was _just_ another bearer of bad news. Sharon Carter, her friend from medical school coming back, and she’s with Steve...Steve Rogers, Steve...Steve whom she loved, whom she...whom she _loves?_ Steve Rogers, Sarah, her daughter— _their_ daughter…Steve Rogers, the man she once loved, whom she thought had loved her the same way, the man she shares a child with, the man who walked away so easily like she was nothing...Steve, he’s...he’s back, and—

_“I love you, and I’m always going to love you.”_

Steve Rogers...the _unfair_ man who came back and...why is he back? Why is he back if he’s moved on? It’s unfair, _no,_ it’s unfair...because whether she admits it or not, she hasn’t. She hasn’t moved on, and...and how could she? How could she when she sees bits and pieces of him everyday in their daughter? How could she when this very hospital holds all their memories, their shared past and she gets to walk through these halls everyday that reminds her of him?

_“But I don’t wanna love you anymore.”_

Steve Rogers, who doesn’t _want_ to love her anymore, has come back, and she’s confused, because why is he here? Why is he here if he doesn’t love her anymore, if he’s moved on, _over_ her, is _happy_ with someone else that’s not _her,_ and she isn’t, even if _she_ could _never_ be over the hurt he had caused, and—

_“I want to be happy.”_

Steve Rogers, whom she once loved, who once told her only _she_ could make him happy, could ever make him complete, had left her, and now he’s back and she doesn’t know what he wants, doesn’t even know why—

She sighs shakily as she stops in front of the emergency exit door to the surgical floor, and she pushes it weakly, walking through the halls, forcing herself to stay calm and focus, even as the corners of her vision begin to blur and darken, and everything around her looks distorted, as if she is looking through a fish-eye lens as she walks through the halls, past the nurses, interns and residents, past the patients’ rooms as she focuses on the door to the attendings’ lounge.

_“Please don’t go, please don’t leave.”_

She takes a shaky breath, pursing her dry lips tightly as she closes her eyes momentarily in hopes to clear her line of sight. _No, no._ She wills herself to focus, focus on the brown door leading to the lounge just a few more meters in front of her. _You can do this, you can do it._ She barely registers the nurses coming to her aid and she shakes them off, and only then does she notice that she is already leaning against the wall, one hand supporting herself on the wall as she bends over, her other hand clutching her chest tightly as she forces herself to _breathe,_ because she _can’t_ breathe, even as she _forces_ herself to breathe heavily, because breathing is a _massive_ difficulty, especially as she feels her throat constricting and her chest tightening.

_No, no, not today. Not today, please._

She doesn’t hear them—even as she barely sees their mouths moving as they try to talk to her, but she doesn’t hear them. _No, no, not this, not today._ She makes another attempt to breathe deeply and properly, and shakes her head as she leans her back against the wall, and she runs her hands through her cold, damp and sweaty hair, attempting to scream, groan in frustration, but she couldn’t even _hear_ her own voice, so is she even screaming? Is she even groaning?

_Can anybody even hear me, when I can’t even hear myself?_

She doesn’t hear them either, _couldn’t_ hear them, as she can only hear the loud thudding of her heart against her chest and her blood pounding inside her ears. She can barely feel her fingernails digging in her scalp, as she can only feel her fingers, shaking, her knees getting weak and her feet tingling. And the bile rising in her throat as her vision continues to darken, the thudding of her heart getting louder and louder, _so_ loud and _deafening_ that it’s scary, terrifying, yet oh-so familiar that it’s almost tempting to give in to the feeling, to just fall further in the pit and just lie there in the dark where she’s supposed to be, and maybe it’s _where_ she is supposed to be.

Maybe just for today, she can allow the pain to overwhelm her again, like how it did for nights over the last three years, like how it did whenever she would watch Sarah sleep and she would see glimpses of him in her, like how it had been for her for nights since he left, and how it had been whenever someone in the hospital used to ask her about him and his departure, and she has to answer honestly, because no one else knew about what happened but her.

_Just for today, I just wanna fall._

She barely hears someone call her name, and in a rare flicker of moment when her eyes had allowed her to see properly, and where she can hear something apart from the blood pounding and her heart thudding, she sees Bucky’s face a few inches away from her. She doesn’t hear him, _no,_ and she starts to panic again when she doesn’t see him anymore. She opens her mouth to call his name, but she’s not sure if she was able to say his name properly, let alone _make_ a sound of some sorts, because she couldn’t breathe, as she could only _wheeze,_ and she feels like she’s about to throw up, especially as she starts to taste salt in her mouth, and in another flicker of reality where she runs her hands on her face, she feels her eyes wet and her cheeks damp, and only then does she realize she’s crying.

 _No,_ she’s not _only_ crying, because _only crying_ doesn’t entail a sharp tightening of the chest, intense pins and needles despite numbness and loss of senses, dizziness and dread. She wants to cry out for help, wants someone to get rid of the pit, pull her out of it, but she doesn’t know if someone can hear her, doesn’t know if she was even able to _say_ she needs help.

Someone does, of course, because Bucky is there to hear her soft whimpers—what he knew to be attempted screams coming off as soft whimpers and groans, and to catch her as her knees were starting to fail her. He shook the nurses off as he carries her to the lounge, and she buries her face subconsciously in his scrubs, wetting it with tears as she continues to sob and gasp for air, begging to be able to breathe and calm her heart palpitations down. He closes the door behind him, and he sits her upright on the couch even as she continues to put her weight down so she can lie down on the couch.

Because she’s too _tired,_ and she just wants to _fall_ down the pit.

“Not today, Nat,” Bucky recites the familiar phrase, kneeling in front of her as he rests both of his hands on either side of her face, forcing her to look at him, and his heart breaks when he sees her eyes are glassy, bloodshot and filled with tears. She is still gasping for air, begging to be able to breathe and ease off the palpitations as she breathes rapidly and deeply. “Not today. Not today. Say it with me, Nat, not today.”

Natasha whimpers as her eyes continue to focus on his, and Bucky sighs in slight relief. _Whimpers mean acknowledgments,_ he thinks back to the notes she had given him before on how to bring her down from an eleven to a four, _However short and nonsense they could seem to be._

“Nat, you hear me?” Bucky asks, and Natasha just continues to breathe rapidly, her eyes attempting to refocus herself on him. “Stay with me, alright? Stay with me.” He brushes her cheeks gently and softly with his thumbs, murmuring for her to stay with him as he does so, until her hands eventually lift to hold his on her face, and he smiles at her. _Wait until I can hold your hand,_ she had said. _That’s at least a sign of attention, at the least._

Bucky’s hands fall on her lap, and her hands follow to drop on top of his. He holds her cold, clammy hands, and squeezes them tightly, releasing not long after and squeezing it again in a pattern, not breaking eye contact from her as she continues to breathe rapidly, but _not_ as rapidly as before. She is still gasping for air, but her tears have stopped as her eyes have fully focused on his.

“Stay with me,” he tells her softly, and she just breathes in response. Bucky takes a slow and deep breath in, and exhales slowly through his mouth. Natasha watches him as he does it again, and again, and he nods at her encouragingly, offering her a small smile, as he continues to squeeze her hands in a pattern—the pattern _she_ had taught her. “Stay with me, and breathe with me, okay?” Bucky does the breathing pattern again, and Natasha follows albeit shakily and a bit rapidly, but Bucky does it slowly and patiently, watching her and encouraging her further.

It takes quite a while, but Natasha eventually follows and keeps up with the breathing pattern, as she begins to squeeze back Bucky’s hands, and he smiles at her as he nods. “That’s it,” he tells her softly, nodding, continuing to coach her breathing as she follows. “That’s it. You’re doing it.”

And she eventually closes her eyes as she takes a smooth and deep breath as Bucky patiently waits for her. She’s still squeezing his hands, with his thumbs brushing the back of her hands soothingly as he watches her. When she opens her eyes, she looks down at her lap, and Bucky moves to sit beside her on the couch, as her head falls on his shoulder, and he presses his lips on her head.

“You’re with me.” Natasha says quietly, and Bucky sighs in relief as he nods.

“You’re with me.” he repeats quietly, as part of Natasha’s grounding techniques post-panic attack. Natasha nods, and he watches as her eyes close and she starts to breathe normally now.

“You shouldn’t have,” she tells him quietly, and she sniffles. “You shouldn’t...shouldn’t have.”

“Why not?” he asks quietly, pulling away slightly as Natasha lifts her head from his shoulder, pulling her hands away from his as she rests them on her lap, her eyes trained down on it. “Nat…”

But she looks away and sighs, closing her eyes as she runs her fingers through her long, wavy red hair and Bucky sighs. “Nat, I’m...I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry, I...I didn’t mean for it to come off as that. We didn’t…” he trails off and shakes his head. “We didn’t _think_ it would come off as that.”

Natasha just closes her eyes and sighs. She doesn’t _know_ what to think, or what to say, much less what to _feel_ anymore other than just feel so heavy and tired. She opens her eyes again and looks back up at Bucky who just looks at her sadly and guiltily. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like we think you’re a bad mom, or...or you’re any less than who you are to Sarah, because you’re _wonderful,_ Nat, you’re...you’re a _good_ mom, and you’re the best Sarah can ever have, and I see that, _we_ see that,” he tells her, and he sighs. “We didn’t...we didn’t mean—”

“It’s exactly what you did,” Natasha tells him quietly, and he shakes his head as she looks away. “And it’s exactly what happened too.”

She _broke,_ because she’s fragile and she’s weak, and it’s all there is in this situation.

Bucky shakes his head. “No, no, that's not _exactly_ what happened, _no,”_ he tells her quickly and she huffs out a breath. “You’re allowed to feel whatever you _want_ to feel, and you’re allowed to react _however_ you want to react but it doesn’t make you weak. It doesn’t make you fragile, nor does it make you any _less_ of a mother.”

Natasha doesn’t say anything, and Bucky sighs, reaching out to take both of her hands as she looks at them. “You were _surprised,_ overwhelmed, upset by _many_ things that aren’t him. You are _not_ weak,” he tells her, and she looks up at him. “You did _not_ break.”

Natasha shakes her head, and squeezes his hands. “That’s not what the others have seen outside.” she tells him quietly, because she’s not _that_ stupid. She _knows_ her panic attack overwhelmed her in the hallway, where nurses crowded around her. She knows what the next gossip will be consisting of, and she knows what people will say about her, especially as everyone’s eyes are hot on her, Steve and Sharon.

Bucky just smirks and lifts a shoulder up in a small shrug. “Since when did you care about what others think and say about you, hm?” he asks lightly and teasingly.

The corner of Natasha’s mouth quirks up slightly, and she huffs out a small chuckle and shakes her head as Bucky smiles. “Can you forgive me?” he asks softly, and she offers him a small smile. “Can you forgive us, Nat?”

Natasha sighs. It’s not like he really _needs_ her forgiveness, because whatever happened in the cafeteria was probably, in hindsight, just another fit preluding a panic attack that had come into fruition a few moments ago. It wasn’t really a big deal, but looking at him now—she sees that perhaps, for him, it _is_ a big deal, because he probably thinks he, and the things he did, was one of the factors contributing to her panic attack. So she nods, squeezing his hands and smiling at him.

“We’re okay,” she tells him softly, and he smiles. “We’re okay, Buck.”

Bucky smiles widely and nods, squeezing Natasha’s hands. “We’re okay,” he repeats softly, and she chuckles softly as his thumbs brush the back of her hands soothingly. “We’re okay.”

“You’re getting good at this,” she teases him quietly with a smirk. “A little more practice, I’d swear you’re getting better at this than how Steve was.”

Bucky snorts and chuckles, shaking his head as he pulls away to rest his back on the armrest of the couch, facing Natasha completely. “Don’t want more practice,” he replies, and he raises an eyebrow at her. “You haven't had a bad one since...since a _long_ time.”

Natasha blinks and looks away. The last time she had a panic attack _this_ bad, it was when she made a mistake on Sarah's course of treatment prior to her diagnosis for TOF. Bucky had been the one to quell and calm her down during that time, and it was also only then that she was able to tell him of the steps Steve used to do in calming her down in panic attacks such as this one.

But since then, she's never had an attack as bad as _that_ one, until now.

“It's just a lot,” she replies quietly, and he hums. “Just very overwhelmed with a lot of things today.” Overwhelmed is an understatement, but it works as of now. Bucky nods and she sighs.

Natasha mirrors Bucky’s movements as she rests on the other armrest of the couch. She raises her feet on the couch and pulls her knees close to her chest, wrapping her arms around her shins and resting her chin on top of her knees. “You should go home, you know,” he tells her softly, lifting an elbow on the back of the couch and resting his head on his hand. “If you don’t have any more surgeries lined up, you should go home.”

Natasha shakes her head. “‘M fine.” she tells him quietly, and Bucky smiles sadly at her.

“You’re tired,” he points out, and she _really_ is. “And I know more than anything, you’d want to see Sarah and snuggle with her or something, especially after an attack like this.” He nods at her. “You should go and rest.”

Natasha snorts playfully at him. “You’re not Fury.” she tells him quietly with a sniffle, and he chuckles.

“No, but I’m a concerned friend,” he tells her, giving her a small smile. _“Your_ concerned person.”

Natasha smiles at that, lifting her head and resting an arm on the backrest of the couch, resting her head on her hand. Since Steve had left, Bucky had stepped up in becoming her best friend and “person”. Natasha loves Bucky like family, the same way Sarah loves her Uncle Bucky like a blood relative—like a _real_ uncle, the same way Bucky loves and looks after Natasha and Sarah like family too.

He is her person, the same way she is his, in a sense.

He was one of those who helped her get through her heartbreak and her pregnancy, as well as one of those who looked after both her and Sarah when her little girl had been sick. He is one of the only two people who can calm her down from a panic attack, the only one she can talk to about him on evenings she misses him and on moments she sees him through Sarah, the only one who won’t force her to move on so easily, the only one who understands how hard it is to move on from what she once thought was such a great love.

“You saw him already?” she asks quietly, and he sighs, giving her a small nod. She smiles sadly at that, feeling a familiar pang of pain in her chest as she takes a deep breath. “Is he well?”

Bucky lets out a small and quiet chuckle as he shakes his head. “The man hurt you and left you, and all you’d want to know is if that man is well?” he asks, and Natasha huffs out a chuckle as she tilts her head, and Bucky sighs. _Might as well be honest._ “He didn’t know you were still here, but…” He shrugs. “I get the feeling he went here just for you.”

Natasha shakes her head as she looks away, feeling the corners of her eyes stinging as tears fill her eyes again. “He can’t, he’s…” she trails off, furrowing her eyebrows together in an attempt to hold back the tears from falling. “That’s twisted. He’s moved on. He can’t go back here for me.” She looks back at Bucky and shakes her head. “He’s moved on, Buck, he can’t go back here for _me,_ he won’t do that.” _He won’t do that to her or Sharon._

Bucky shrugs. “We once thought he wouldn’t leave—not in the way he did,” he points out. “Who’s to say what he wants to do now he’s come back?”

Natasha shakes her head but she stays silent. No, she doesn’t like that he’s here, that he has come back, that he has moved on and he has brought the new woman he had loved after her back here, but she doesn’t believe his return is of ill reason. Whatever _twisted_ logic there could be—she doesn’t believe he had come back for _her,_ especially not when he has brought the new life he lived in Seattle back here.

“SHIELD is a good hospital, it’s improved over the years he’d gone, especially in facilities and equipment and...working ethics. He’d fit here well enough when he worked here, and I’m sure the same can be said for Sharon. They’re both good doctors,” Natasha says, shrugging. “Maybe it has nothing to do with me. Not in the way…” she trails off, taking a shaky breath as she looks down. “Not in the way we think.” _Not in the way I hope._

Bucky looks at her intently. “Do you want it to?” he asks quietly, as she looks back up at him. “Do you want it to have something to do with you?”

_Do you want his return to have something to do with you?_

Natasha blinks and sighs, pausing for a moment to think. “If the time comes we get to work together, I just hope we’d at _least_ still have that—the good working ethics, the working chemistry, good professionalism and all that,” she tells him honestly, and she shrugs. “It’s all I can afford to ask at this point.”

“And nothing more?” Bucky prompts carefully as Natasha chuckles lightly.

“I can’t afford to ask for more,” she replies, shrugging. “Even if I want to, I can’t ask for more—not when he has a new life without me, and not when I have mine without him.” She raises an eyebrow as the corner of her mouth quirks up. “I don’t even know if it’s _right_ to ask for more should I want it to.” She then chuckles. “I don’t even know what I _want_ to do, no less.”

Bucky purses his lips together, and sighs, as he waits for Natasha to continue. She just gives him a small smile. “You know everybody keeps on telling me to move on, pressuring me to move on,” she says quietly. “I mean everyone gave me time to grieve, wallow in the pain and heartbreak, on the first year or so—and then I tried to listen, but…” She shrugs. “It’s not as easy as everyone paints it to be. Not as easy as everyone imagines it to be. I mean...look at everyone now, the ones who expect me to move on are the _first_ ones looking at me if I should break or not with his return.” She chuckles quietly as she looks away from Bucky momentarily and sighs. “I once thought he was the greatest love I can ever have, and he gave me the greatest love _I_ can ever have even without him knowing it—it’s not _that_ easy to move on from that.”

She shakes her head, and looks back at Bucky who looks at her sadly. “And seeing that great love everyday...it’s hard to forget and move on, Buck. But I can’t ask that great love to return if he has a new one now. I can’t ask for it to come back because I already had the chance, and I had a part on why it had left in the first place, anyway.” She pauses and quirks her mouth. “I have my own great love now, though. And she’s waiting for me at home.”

Bucky chuckles quietly, and shakes his head. “So you just endure the pain without having anything to do about it?” Bucky asks, and Natasha shrugs.

“Maybe wait for it to go away,” she replies quietly. “There’s no harm in that, I guess. It might get easier now that he’s here, and now I see more reason to move forward and not wait any longer.” She shrugs and gives him a small smile. “Let’s just see what’s gonna happen, if _anything’s_ gonna happen.”

_Do you want anything to happen?_

But Bucky bites his own tongue before he can even say anything, and instead he reaches out to rest an open palm between them. Natasha smiles and takes his hand, and he gives it a light squeeze. “Whatever you decide to do with him, you tell me,” he tells her softly. “I don’t want you to be alone in this.”

She smiles and nods. “Okay.” she tells him quietly and he smiles as he lets go of her hand and gets up from the couch.

“I’ll head back, got some charts to accomplish and reports to finish,” he says, stretching his arms and limbs as she looks up at him. “And I’ll tell Banner to take over what’s left of your shift, so you can go home.”

“Buck—”

“Go home, Nat,” he tells her firmly, and she sighs. Bucky just smiles down at her. “Your one great love is waiting for you at home, remember? I’m sure you’d want to see her after everything that’s happened today.” He grins at her. “And I’m sure she’d be just as thrilled to find her Mommy come home early to spend more time with her.”

Natasha chuckles and shakes her head. “Using my daughter as a bribe to get off of work early,” she teases lightly. “Smooth move, Barnes.”

He waves his hand with a short laugh. “Go home, Romanoff,” he says, turning back to stand by the door of the lounge as he looks back at her. “I’ll deal with Fury and Banner, I promise.” He opens the door and steps out, closing the door behind him and leaving Natasha alone in the lounge.

Natasha looks around the empty attendings’ lounge and sighs. She takes her phone out, staring at the wallpaper of Sarah before she can look at the time. She has four hours left in her regular shift, and while it’s true she’s practically free the whole day except for filling up charts and reports, she can’t just leave. But she supposes Bucky is right. She _is_ tired. Panic attacks make her _tired,_ barely functioning and it just builds up her desire to see her daughter and cuddle with her to make her feel even better. She couldn’t work properly, let alone function properly post-attack, and she doesn’t want that.

She can make up for the four hours sometime within the week.

She groans as she gets up from the couch, and takes a moment to get her bearing as she feels the room spinning around her. She takes a deep breath and removes her white coat, walking over to her locker to hang it up there and change into her regular clothes as she fixes her things. She grabs her phone and sends Wanda a text, telling her an emergency came up and she needs to go home, instructing her to monitor her patients. She sends Bruce a text too, telling her she’ll make up for the four hours left. She puts her phone on the back pocket of her jeans as she grabs her coat and bag.

She takes a look at the mirror hanging on her locker door and sighs. She rubs her red-rimmed and glassy eyes with her free hand and runs it through her disheveled red hair. She _looks_ tired, looks like she had one hell of a day because, well, to be fair, she _did._

She closes her locker and opens the attendings’ lounge, ducking her head as she walks through the hall and into the elevator lobby. She presses the button down and sighs, closing her eyes momentarily as she waits for an elevator to come up. She crosses her arms over her chest as she feels the weight of everything that happened within the day consume her and wash over her. She is _tired,_ absolutely so that she begins to imagine just coming home, catching Sarah as the toddler would run into her arms and snuggle with her until she falls into a deep slumber with her daughter in her arms.

Her _one_ great love, the one that will last a lifetime, the one who will never leave, the one who will never break her heart, unlike the first great love she had before.

And as the elevator doors open, she opens her eyes, and she sighs—because the _one_ great love she once had, the one she thought would last a lifetime, the one that had left and broke her heart, and had now come back in the form of a stranger, is standing inside the elevator, his blue eyes still the same beautiful piercing ones that she still remembered, looking at her with wide eyes as she looks back, and she sighs as she starts to feel the familiar ache in her chest once again.

“Nat.” he whispers, enough for her to hear, and she swallows down her throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also just want to put it out here that I hope everyone will be kind to one another in the comments. I know this work is very intense, emotional and frustrating and all, but let's all still be nice to everyone. :) I promise you guys everything will unfold nicely soon, and everything will start to make sense in the narrative soon as well!
> 
> With that being said, kudos, reviews and comments are appreciated!


	6. In Moments We Miss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Thanks so much so far for your comments, kudos and support! They really mean so much to me, and it really encourages me to continue writing this. Anyway, this is a long chapter ahead, and there's gonna be a lot to unpack here, so I hope you bear with it and enjoy!

_How long is a moment?_

It’s really one of the questions both of them have. As doctors, they were taught of precision, concreteness and certainty. When they were asked to count pulse, they have to be precise, in terms of counting beats and focusing on the time, making sure they never exceed nor lack a single second, making sure they never exceed nor lack a single pulse in their count. When they are asked about the amount of drugs coming in the patient’s system, they have to be precise in their amount, because any extra or lacking millimeter can immediately cause complications and eventual death. When they are asked how long was a patient under this type of drug, they need to be precise, and say the exact time including the seconds. When they are asked how long will their surgery take, what time it will start and what time it had ended, they are tasked and trained to say the exact time, including minutes and seconds. Each minute matters, each second matters. They are doctors who save lives, doctors who heal and doctors who have the permission to fix sick people’s bodies.

Any wrong move, any extra or less second can cost a person’s life, which was why certainty, precision and accuracy are all important elements in a doctor’s life.

So when Steve says that his and Natasha’s eyes met for a _moment_ before she broke it to enter the elevator with him, he felt as if in that moment, all thoughts about precision, about certainty, concreteness and accuracy were all thrown out of the window, as the thinks: how long exactly was it? How long exactly did it take before Natasha broke away from his gaze, before she stepped into the elevator in an attempt to not mind him and ignore him? And how long exactly was it, when Natasha says she had looked into those blue eyes for a moment, those blue eyes that have haunted her for nights in the last three years since he left, before she broke it off, braved herself to step into the elevator with him?

Long enough, for sure, that they begin to question if a moment really lasts for just _a_ moment.

And that’s the funny thing about moments, he supposes—most of the time, they’re so swift, so unexpected that when you don’t pay much attention to it, you can almost miss it. He had stepped inside this elevator just two floors ago not thinking such a moment would happen, as he was so focused on getting his laptop that he had left inside this car, so focused on the surgery he’d be performing in an hour or so, that he _almost,_ almost missed it when the elevator doors open to let someone else in.

Someone else who happened to be the reason why he had come back here.

But why did it matter so much anyway?

When she saw him, Natasha sighs and ducks her head, taking a moment before she takes a step into the elevator and turning her back against him, crossing her arms over her chest as she watches the elevator doors close off. Steve just watches her, as if frozen, surprised and stuck where he is, unable to decide what to do, what to say, unable to determine if he _ever_ has the right to do or say anything now that she is here. She closes her eyes, because she _knows_ he’s looking, and she knows he wants to say something, but right now she doesn’t even know if she can afford to hear anything that he has to say, no matter how mundane it could be.

Being with him hurts, _feeling_ him behind her as he watches her silently _hurts,_ and she doesn’t think she can afford if he ever attempts to do anything more.

But the silence is deafening, each passing second tormenting, painful as if each second is a small needle piercing their hearts, and they long for the silence to be filled by anything, _anything_ at all. So they think. Steve wants to say something as he racks his brain for _anything,_ anything that he can say. He can start with the usual pleasantries, because after all, this _is_ the first time in three years that they’d seen each other. He’d known her to be one of the attending surgeons under neuro, so maybe he can ask her about her last surgery for the day? Maybe he can ask her where she was heading to: home? _Home,_ of course, because she’s out of her scrubs, out of her white coat and she’s wearing casual clothes now—the one he’s always been so familiar with: her usual beige button-down top with her sleeves rolled up, and her blue jeans with her black ankle boots—with her coat and bag slung over her arms. Perhaps she’s had surgeries since this morning, or she’d been on-call and doing a double shift because she’s now a hotshot, amazing neurosurgeon who has had surgeries all day, and tends to focus all of their energies every single one, so much so that it tires her, and...

He sighs, forcing his mind to stop. The point is: what _exactly_ is there left to say?

So he just watches her, the long and dark red wavy hair that he had grown to be familiar with over the past years, and over time, those that he had decided would be a stranger to him instead. She’s facing the door, so he can’t see her face now, but he’d seen it, of course, in that one moment of utter shock and sadness and anxiety when he never counted the seconds, where she was supposed to ride an elevator he was in. In the end, she took the elevator, anyway, even when he was _sure_ enough she wouldn’t, just because he’s in there.

But of course, she took it, as she should, because who was he to stop her from doing so, anyway?

He hears her clear her throat, and he snaps away from his thoughts. “Got another surgery?” she asks quietly. Steve’s eyes travel up to her, but she doesn’t face him, and for a split second, he wonders if she was speaking to her.

But no one else is here, so she must be speaking to him.

“Yeah, I...I got one more. I just have to grab something in the car first.” he replies, after clearing his throat. He wants to say more, wants to _speak_ more, ask more questions inciting her to talk, because he cannot deny how much he missed her voice. He can’t deny how much he’s still aching to hear her speak, because he cannot comprehend how much he misses hearing her talk.

He cannot deny how much he misses her.

“You?” he asks quietly, and he watches as she turns her head slightly, so he can only see her side profile, and he can only see one of her naturally rosy cheeks, and her long lashes as her eyes are trained down. Even from where he is, as he looks at her, she’s beautiful, _always_ had been beautiful, and always will be. She turns her head again as she completely faces back to the door again.

“Had one,” she replies quietly as she ducks her head, and she purses her lips momentarily, closing her eyes to quell the stinging feeling in the corners of her eyes, and the painful constriction in her chest. “Just taking off early ‘cause of an emergency.” she says, as she lifts her head again and sighs.

He wants to ask more, because he wants to know if everything was alright, if _she’s_ alright, but he holds back, because who was _he_ to ask her that? Who was he to ask her if she’s alright if he was fully aware of the pain he had caused her years back, and of the possible pain he is causing now as they stand together in the same lift after years of not seeing each other? He’s no friend, no lover, no _anyone_ in her life but a stranger.

Who was he to assume he is anybody in her life now?

“Hope everything’s alright.” he just says, and he inwardly winces at how it sounded so forced, when he really does mean well, but he’s just _so_ apprehensive of actually _saying_ it that it begins to sound so forced.

He means well, and despite everything, he just hopes she gets that.

“Thanks,” she replies quietly, and if he wasn’t even listening intently, he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t hear it. But he just nods and sighs in slight relief. She clears her throat and shifts her weight between her two feet. “This surgery of yours...it’s a long one?” she asks quietly.

“Intracardiac tumor in a four-year-old,” he answers. “It’s quite extensive, since scans seem to show an extracardiac extension through the wall, but we’d have to check first.”

“It’s a unique case,” Natasha remarks, and Steve watches her head bob as he hums in agreement. “Thor’s operating with you?”

“Yeah, it’s...it’s an extensive and unique case, so we need all the hands we can get,” Steve says, and his lips turned upward a little bit in the corner. “Borrowed some residents too, and I don’t think they’re in a specific mentorship, so it should be fine.”

Natasha nods. “You should take Wanda under the surgery if you still need extra hands,” she tells him quietly, and she watches her lift one shoulder for a shrug, her head tilting up to check the floor they were in, as he mirrored her movements—because _really,_ he almost forgot how slow elevator rides are whenever he’s with her, how slow fourteen floors are from the surgical floor down to the main lobby, that when they were together _years_ before, they would share their slow, clandestine kisses with each other, far away from everyone’s eyes, cuddle in the warmth of each other’s arms before they would get into the surgical floor, and— _no,_ he _has_ to stop. She clears her throat, snapping him back to reality. “She’d be thrilled to be involved in those kinds of surgeries.”

Steve hums. “She’s training under neuro?” he asks quietly, unsure of whether he should be asking this, but still nonetheless very happy of the conversation he’s holding with her. _Because it’s better than tense silence._

“She’s training under _me,_ so...yeah, technically under neuro,” she says, huffing out a soft chuckle that Steve feels his heart flutter in his chest— _pathetic,_ really, how she still has that effect on him even after _years_ —the corners of his mouth quirking upwards into a small smile at the sound of her small chuckle. “But I think she’s still open to train under any other field.”

“Hope she’ll be available in an hour, then.” he says lightly, and she smiles and ducks her head again.

“Tell her I talked to you ‘bout it,” she says, and _this_ time, she finally turns to face him, and the small smile she has on her face falters as she faces him. His mouth opens slightly, as he takes in all of her even in just this short moment—her green eyes, while red-rimmed, glassy and evidently slowly filling with tears, still _so_ beautiful, still a reminder of why he had fallen in love with her in the first place all those years ago. Her long lashes, her naturally rosy cheeks in contrast with her creamy skin, her wavy hair that frames her face so beautifully—everything he tried _oh_ so hard to forget when he had left, but never succeeded, all still present, and if possible even _more_ beautiful than the last time he saw her.

He fights the urge to cup her cheeks, brush his thumbs over her smooth cheeks and under her eyes where the tears will fall. He fights the urge to gather her in his arms, bury his nose in her smooth, red wavy hair and inhale the scent of her shampoo this morning. He fights the urge to wipe off the sadness so evident in her eyes, because he _can’t,_ not when he knows _he’s_ the reason those eyes lack the usual sparkle it held, the usual brightness it usually had that makes her even more beautiful and bright like the morning sun.

She bites her bottom lip, giving him a small smile even as her vision blurs, as more tears gathered in her eyes as she looks at him. She swallows down the bile rising in her throat, hoping to quell the pain in her heart and in her chest. “Tell her I said she can scrub in to your surgery if she wants.” she tells him quietly, fighting to keep her voice steady, fighting to never let it break.

She _can’t_ break. Not again, not in front of him.

He couldn’t do anything but nod, as his eyes don’t leave her as he continues to look at her, his heart breaking by the second he sees her eyes getting more glassy as more tears filled it, almost reflecting the dim light in the elevator. “I will.” he replies quietly, offering her a small smile as she nods, her eyes dropping from his eyes to his chest, and back down to their feet.

And then it was back to silence, and back to Steve longing to hear her voice, racking his mind for anything to say, anything to ask just so he can continue their conversation. It really shouldn’t be this hard, he supposed, because he _did_ have a history with Natasha. At some point, they loved each other. At some point, it had been easy for the both of them: easy to communicate, easy to jive with and laugh with, but that had all been in the past, and all of which became difficult when he had left. All of it became difficult when he decided that their history and their love had meant nothing to him and just walked away from her.

So, Steve thinks: what exactly do you say to someone whom you just left and walked away from? What exactly do you say to someone whom you have hurt? What exactly do you say to someone whom you still love, and whom you want forgiveness from, no matter how long it will take?

How exactly do you ask for forgiveness, how exactly do you repent, for causing such a huge amount of pain?

Natasha sighs and turns back to face the elevator doors, and Steve looks up to find that they have four more floors left before they would part. So he takes a moment to think, because he doesn’t know how long he still has left, and how long _this_ moment with her will last, how long before they will get another moment like this, so he thinks, he thinks, he thinks, he thinks.

“Nat—” he starts with a whisper, but he is interrupted when she speaks up first, and _almost_ the same time as he does that he could’ve missed it if he wasn’t paying much attention.

“I miss you.” she tells him quietly, with a plaintive note in her voice.

And Steve’s breath hitches in his throat, as soon as he hears the quiet confession, and he opens his mouth to say something in response to what _she_ just said, something in continuation of what he wanted to tell her. _I miss you,_ she said, and he misses her too. He misses her so much it _hurts,_ and he misses her so much he wants to make everything he did wrong right. _It’s why he’s here,_ he thinks. It’s why he came back, right?

But words are starting to fail him, and even as he opens his mouth, nothing comes out.

And Natasha closes her eyes after she confesses it quietly, not even knowing _why_ she said it in the first place—and _fuck,_ why did she even _say_ it? It’s pathetic, really, the _small_ confession she doesn’t even know if it’s appropriate to say, appropriate to confess, not when she’s trying so hard to move on from him, not when he has his own life without her, and especially _not_ when his new life is just floors above them.

But she couldn’t hold it in any longer. She couldn’t bear to add _another_ piece of weight on top of what she’s already feeling right now or she’ll start to break and she’ll start to fall. She couldn’t hold it in, so she said it, even if it sounded so pathetic, even if it sounded weak because right now, she’s done being strong, and right now she _couldn’t_ be strong. She says it because for some reason, saying it out loud— _admitting_ it out loud to him feels liberating, and maybe, she thinks, if she becomes more honest, she _will_ be liberated from the pain, and she _will_ be liberated from him and she can finally move forward.

Because no, it’s not like she wants him back—she doesn’t. Not after what he did, not after everything she had gone through. But Natasha figures that sometimes, missing someone or missing something didn’t necessarily mean she would want it back—it’s just being able to acknowledge that immense feeling of sadness and regret at something or someone she wouldn’t be able to go back to, or have. And it doesn’t mean she has to _want_ it again.

She just...she just misses him.

“And this is the only time I’m gonna say it.” she continues quietly. Because she shouldn’t be saying it, she _shouldn’t,_ not when Sharon is here, not when Sarah is waiting for her at home. She shouldn’t be saying it, and yet here she was—saying it twice, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like it’s the _truest_ and realest thing in the world.

Steve swallows down his throat, as he takes two steps forward, until his face is a few inches away from the back of her head. Her breath hitches as she feels him behind her, and she exhales almost in relief, closing her eyes as he closes his. _I miss you,_ he wants to say, as he tilts his face, moving it an inch forward, but he purses his lips, resisting the urge to press a kiss on her head, and hold her in his arms. Her breath hitches as she involuntarily leans back to him, and he _almost_ catches her, _almost_ holds her if she didn’t stop herself. _I miss you so much,_ he wants to say, as he instead settles on letting his forehead brush on her hair as he sighs. She feels the hair rising at the back of her neck where she feels his breath against her skin, and she feels relieved, relaxed, as if this is the rightest thing in the world, his breath on her skin is the _rightest_ thing in the world.

It almost, _almost_ makes her want to want him again it's dangerous.

“Nat…” he whispers softly, and she lets out a sigh in response.

They get lost in the moment—lost in _this_ moment with each other. Neither of them know how long this moment will last, but they figured the moment is about to end when the elevator lets out a soft sound, and the doors open to the ground floor lobby, as Steve instinctively takes a step back away from her, like how he usually did when they used to share their kisses and cuddles in this _very_ elevator all those years ago. Natasha opens her eyes, just as the doors open, and she sighs as he does too. 

This is where the moment ends. This is where _their_ moment ends, and he doesn’t know if he’s gonna get another one too.

Natasha takes a deep breath, and she looks back at him, offering him a small smile. “Welcome back, Doctor Rogers.” she says softly, her green eyes wide and glassy, and he begins to wonder again if being with him in those few moments had been painful, if it had hurt her far more than he can ever imagine. He wonders if _being_ with him in these few moments hurt, and not for the first time, he wonders if there’s anything else he can do to take that pain away from her.

But he figures staying away, like what the others had told him, is the only way for that to happen.

“Thank you.” he responds, just as she turns to step off the elevator, and even if it’s also the floor he should be going off on, he stays put and just watches her leave and walk away, feeling a different kind of pain in his chest as he does so.

He should have said something, anything else, something _more,_ something _real,_ because even if words had been exchanged, it still wasn’t enough. Those words can never compare to the words he had wanted to tell her, the words he had wanted to take back even if it had been years ago. He didn’t even get to tell her how much _he_ misses _her,_ when she had told him she misses him, because he’s sure to know that _he_ misses her more than she can ever do, and he will never get tired of saying it and admitting it, even if she herself would tell him that _that_ was the last time she’ll ever admit that to him. But it had been too late when he decided on the things he should say—the _right_ things he should say, and besides, he figured she deserved better than for her to hear these words—his piece—in an elevator in a matter of minutes. She deserves to hear these words for a lifetime, and not in a matter of mere moments.

And here’s one of the things he’s learned about moments: that no matter how small and fleeting these moments are such as theirs in the elevator, he has to cherish it, hold on to it, and to live in it like it would be the last—because who was he to tell if there would be a next time? Who was he to say there would be a next time when he would get to have those green eyes all by himself, that he would get to hear her soft and gentle voice telling him she missed him, that he would get to hold her and tell her over and over again that he’s sorry, that he loves her, that he misses her too?

So he holds on to the moment that passed, no matter how fleeting and short it was, no matter how much he yearns for more of it—because it’s a moment worth having, because it’s a moment that’s rare, regardless of what anyone else thinks about it.

And as Steve holds on to the moment that passed so fleetingly, Natasha does her best to forget and let go of the moment that had immediately got a hold in her heart. She tries to forget how seemingly big that fleeting moment was, as she paces faster towards her car in the parking lot, as she drops her bag and coat and turns the engine on. She tries her best to immediately let go of the moment, and all the events that preceded the moment, as she pulls out of her parking slot to drive out of the hospital back to her apartment building. She tries to forget his voice—the hushed and gentle voice she had achingly longed to hear for such a long time—and his bright blue eyes, those that used to look at her with love, those that had looked at her earlier on as if he still loved her, as if he missed her too.

She just wants to go home. She just wants to forget about the moment that passed, and all the moments that happened before it. She just wants everything to be washed away clean so she can start over. Why does she feel like she can’t start over?

Natasha parks her car on the curb in front of her apartment building as she turns the engine off. She moves almost automatically, mechanically like she’s a stranger even to her own body. Who would’ve thought a moment can make her feel _so_ tired? Because right now she feels _out_ of it, tired and exhausted and just wanting this one _hell_ of a day to end.

And at this point, she thinks, she’s _way_ beyond feeling sad. She is in pain, to the point that the pain had transcended into numbness, and she _knew_ somehow that being numb is worse. She is numb, yet there is also a certain kind of heaviness in her chest and in her heart that all she wants to do is climb to bed and do _nothing_ but hope and pray for all of it to go away and disappear. She wants _all_ that has happened today to just disappear—because all that had happened today had made her feel like this—out of control and numb, and she wants nothing more than for this feeling of being out of her body, of being out of control, to disappear. She wants it gone, because it reminds her too much of how she had felt before.

 _Everything_ that has been going on is reminding her too much of the past she had sworn she has moved on from. She _hates_ how the past is catching up to her, how it’s slowly creeping in and up to her, _just_ when life is starting to become good... _just_ when the universe is finally telling her that she is _allowed_ to be happy now.

_Well screw you, universe._

She gathers her coat and bag on the shotgun seat and slams the door of her car shut, trudging her way tiredly up to the steps of the apartment building, and into the lobby in front of the elevator. She forces herself to hold in the tears, to just hold in the pain in her chest and in her heart and resist the urge to just give up and lay down on the floor as she waits for the elevator to reach her floor. She takes a shaky breath, leaning against the elevator and closing her eyes as she crosses her arms over her chest.

She feels like she’s back to square one, and she _hates_ being back to square one because being back to square one is _tiring,_ and she’s already too tired enough.

She walks over to her apartment door, turns the doorknob and pushes the door open. She finds the living room empty, and closes the door behind her, just as she sees Yelena emerge from her bedroom, and her sister looks at her with eyes wide and mouth hung slightly open in surprise as she stops in the middle of the living room.

“You’re home early. I just put Sarah for her nap on your bed,” she says, raising an eyebrow as Natasha sighs and drops her bag on the couch in the living room. “Your shift ended early?”

Natasha straightens herself and takes a deep breath, pursing her lips as she crosses her arms over her chest. She looks at her sister straight in the eye, waiting for her to speak up, waiting for her to _admit_ to something she knew and something she didn’t do that she _should’ve_ done. And Yelena blinks, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion at her sister’s silence, but after a few moments, Yelena’s face eases in slow realization, and she takes a slow breath. “Is he gonna be permanent there?” she asks quietly.

Natasha shakes her head slightly as her jaw clenches. “How long did you even know?” Natasha asks quietly, frowning slightly, and Yelena purses her lips and shakes her head.

“I...I didn’t…” she trails off, as Yelena takes a step towards her sister and shakes her head. “I didn’t...didn’t know—”

“How long did you _know?”_ Natasha repeats her question, her voice getting louder, raising slightly as Yelena stops in her tracks and blinks at her sister. She feels her mouth go dry as she forces herself to swallow down the knot forming in her throat and starts to fumble with the hem of her shirt as Natasha just looks at her expectedly, waiting for her to speak up, waiting for her to answer.

“Just this morning,” she answers quietly. “This morning before I came in here, before I told you I wanted to babysit. Bucky texted me Steve was back in town.” Natasha shakes her head, but Yelena is quick to continue and explain. “But even if I didn’t know, I still would’ve...I would’ve still come because I wanted to spend time with Sarah, and I wanted to spend time with you.” She pauses and purses her lips. “There isn’t...there isn’t any agenda, I _swear.”_

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Natasha asks quietly. “If there isn’t any hidden agenda, why didn’t you just tell me straight-up the moment you knew?”

Yelena pauses for a moment, shifting her weight from one leg to the other as she shakes her head. “I didn’t...I didn’t know how to say it,” she admits quietly. “And...and I didn’t wanna upset you—”

“You didn’t wanna _upset_ me?” Natasha asks, raising her voice as Yelena flinches in surprise, and at this point, Natasha was even too _tired_ to care as she lets out a frustrated huff, running her hand through her hair and shaking her head as she once again feels the heat in her chest rising as the corners of her eyes begin to sting. “You didn’t wanna _upset_ me by _not_ telling me you know that my ex was coming in? Lena, _you_ keeping this from me upsets me _more_ than ever!”

“I didn’t _know_ how to tell you, Nat, I didn’t know!” Yelena exclaims defensively, raising her hands up in surrender as she shakes her head. “I _was_ gonna tell you, I really _was,_ but I didn’t want to make you so upset especially since I _know_ you wouldn’t be able to function well at work when you’re upset, and—”

“You didn’t _think_ I could handle it before I could go to work?” Natasha demands, balling her fists at her sides, feeling it shake as she scowls at her sister. _“Jesus,_ Lena, you’re supposed to be on _my_ side! You’re supposed to believe that I can do this, encourage me and tell me that I can do it, because _you’re_ my sister and _that’s_ what sisters do to each other!”

“I _am_ on your side!” Yelena exclaims, taking a few steps forward towards her sister. “I’m on _your_ side, Nat—”

Yelena is immediately cut off when both she and Natasha hear Sarah’s cries coming from inside Natasha’s bedroom, probably woken up startled by hearing the growing shouting match between Natasha and Yelena, no matter how brief it may have been. Natasha huffs, running her hands through her face as she groans in frustration against her hands before shaking her head and walking past her sister, bumping her on the shoulder as Yelena looks back and turns, watching as Natasha walks over to her bedroom, her hand running through her hair at a vain attempt to calm herself down and put on a calm and happy facade for her little girl.

It’s what she always does, and what she always does best—mask the emotions, bottle them all up, and put on a happy face.

Natasha opens the door, and immediately finds her daughter sitting up on the bed, her face red and wet with tears as she cries, and upon her entrance, Sarah’s eyes widen as she crawls over towards the foot of the bed, extending her arms, wanting to be picked up by her mother, who closes the door behind her and walks over to pick her up in an embrace. Sarah wraps her arms around Natasha’s neck, burying her face in the crook of it as she cries, and Natasha shushes her quietly, rubbing her hand on her small back and pressing a kiss on the side of her head.

“It’s okay,” she whispers, walking over to the side of her bed as she closes her eyes and smooths her soft blonde hair. “It’s okay, baby, Mommy’s here. Mommy’s here.”

And Sarah lets out a hiccup as she continues to cry, her tears wetting the crook of Natasha’s neck but she couldn’t care less. She continues to shush her daughter softly, pressing small kisses on her head and rubbing soothing circles on the girl’s back to calm her down. And Natasha sighs as she does so too, because being with her daughter, embracing her and pressing soft kisses on her head, also calms her down. She’d been wanting the entire day to come home, snuggle with her, and wrap her arms around her little girl after a grueling series of events, because only Sarah’s presence can make her calm down, only being with Sarah can assure her that there is still goodness and light in the world.

Only Sarah can make her feel like she is still doing good, that she is still enough, that her love is worth staying and keeping alive for.

So she holds Sarah close to her, as the little girl’s cries turn into sniffles, small whimpers and hiccups. She doesn’t let go of her mother, and Natasha doesn’t let go of her too, as she sits on the edge of her bed and rests her back against the headboard. She adjusts Sarah so the toddler is resting her head on her mother’s chest, her small hands resting on her collarbones as Natasha wraps her arms around her small body, pressing her lips on her hair.

And Natasha doesn’t know how long it took, how long was she sitting on her bed with her daughter on her chest, drawing small soothing circles on her back and pressing soft kisses on her head, before she finally feels the toddler’s breaths even out. When she looks down, she finds her daughter asleep, her cheeks rosy and moist from her tears, and her long lashes still dotted with tears, barely touching her cheeks as she slept soundly, letting out soft and small snores as she exhales. Natasha smooths her back gently, slowly removing Sarah from her chest to gently lay her down on the bed. The toddler stirs, her eyebrows furrowing and her nose scrunching but Natasha shushes softly, pressing her lips on her temple as she gently pats her leg on rhythm, making the toddler’s expression relax as her breathing evens out again.

She stays for a few more moments, just watching her little girl sleep, giving her more kisses on her head and on her face, whispering how much she loves her over and over again, before she slowly pulls away, careful not to disturb Sarah’s slumber, as she slips out of bed to get up. She takes one last look at Sarah before she slowly and quietly opens her door, closing it gently as she can behind her. When she turns back, she finds her sister sitting on the couch, holding her phone in one hand, as she gets up when she sees Natasha exit her bedroom and stop in front of her bedroom door.

“I...I ordered takeout,” Yelena tells her quietly. “It’s...it’s on me, so...” She shrugs, putting her phone back in her pocket. “So you don’t have to worry, it’s gonna come soon for dinner.”

Natasha clenches her jaw and takes a deep breath. “You didn’t have to.” she says quietly, shaking her head and crossing her arms over her chest. Yelena just sighs and looks at her sister with wide, hazel-green eyes, fumbling once again with the hem of her shirt as she lets the silence settle between them.

But Yelena eventually sighs and shakes her head. “Nat, I’m sorry,” she says softly, and Natasha shakes her head too, running her fingers through her hair. “I’m sorry, and I can explain—”

“It’s fine.” Natasha answers quietly, shrugging.

“Because I _know_ I should’ve told you, and I should have _done_ something, or I should’ve—”

“Lena.” Natasha calls her sister quietly, but Yelena continues to ramble.

“I should’ve just _told_ you, and it’s _my_ fault, alright? I take _full_ responsibility, and you’re right what I did was _me_ acting like I’m not on your side—”

“Yelena,” Natasha says, her voice a little louder, as Yelena stops and looks at her sister with wide eyes. Natasha sighs. “I said it’s fine, okay? We’re fine.”

Yelena shifts her weight from one foot to the other, quirking her mouth. “No, we’re not.” she says quietly, and Natasha frowns, shaking her head as she walks over to the couch to pick up her bag and coat.

“You didn’t hear what I just said—”

“D’you remember what Papa told us before he died?” she asks, moving over to sit on the arm of the couch as Natasha pauses, looking at her sister as her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “When he died...that _day_ he got to talk to both of us, d’you remember what he said?”

_Of course she remembers what he said._

Their adoptive father, Ivan Litvinencko, had been a good man who took both girls in as his own adoptive daughters. Natasha and Yelena had met in a foster home in St. Petersburg, Russia when Natasha was nine, and Yelena was four. They had grown extremely close during the time they were in the foster home that the girls had refused to be adopted without the other, so Ivan had willingly took both of them. He allowed them to keep their last names, and when they were older, he told them it was a reminder of who they really were before he had found them, and he wanted them to remember where they came from no matter where they were—even though neither of them had any memory of their biological family before ending up in the foster home. He was a kind man who loved them both, and when Natasha was thirteen and Yelena was eight, Ivan moved them to America, where Ivan took care of them and loved them, and the two girls lived their best lives.

It’s been almost thirteen years ago, when their father died—when Natasha was just a university student, and Yelena was still in high school; when Natasha was barely even twenty, and Yelena was sixteen and had just entered high school. It was sudden, the cancer that struck their father, the one that turned out to be incurable still, even with the number of medical breakthroughs the doctors of this generation created. Eventually, after half a year of fighting it, he succumbed to the call of death, but not before giving his daughters his last words.

_Vy budete lyubit' drug druga, i vy budete zabotit'sya drug o druge._

When Yelena had slept that evening before their father died, Natasha was still able to hear more from her father: _Obeshchay mne, chto zashchitish' svoyu sestru. Chto by ne sluchilos'._

 _Promise me you will protect your sister. Whatever happens_ —another promise made on top of an original one, one that Natasha had fought for more than nearly half of her life, one that she took it in heart, and one that ever since, she’s been trying her best to do so.

“Papa told us to take care of each other, and to love each other,” Yelena says quietly. “And I think on top of that...on top of taking care and loving each other, I’d like to think he would’ve wanted us to trust each other as well. Trust each other, and lean on each other especially when tough times happen.”

Natasha crosses her arms and looks away, just as Yelena swallows down her throat. “Ever since Papa died...I feel like our sisterhood died along with him,” she admits softly, and Natasha looks back up at her sister. “And don’t get me wrong. I _know_ you love me, the same way I love you, and probably more, because I know you did everything you could to make ends meet. You took care of me, took up part-time jobs even if Papa left both of us college and lifetime funds just to make sure we can survive, and we’ll have something to eat, or you can give me what I need and want. But I’m not talking about that, Nat.” She shakes her head, just as Natasha furrows her eyebrows at her slightly. “We used to be _so_ close. We used to spend nights telling each other everything when we were younger, but when Papa died...Nat, I barely even get _anything,_ any bit of your life anymore.”

Ever since their adoptive father had died, Natasha, in a way to fulfill her promise to her father that she will take care of her sister, had drawn herself back in the hopes that she will not allow any sort of grief and heartbreak to overwhelm and affect how she deals with Yelena. It broke her heart, watching their father died, but so was Yelena’s. Over time, she compartmentalized, learned to put her sister’s needs above hers even if that included not acknowledging how she felt or not getting what she needed. She put it on herself to make her sister as happy as she can be, to eliminate as much sadness and heartbreak as she could from her sister’s life, putting on herself to make her laugh and smile even if the waves of grief come by.

She had learned to draw herself back from emotions, from the feelings life gives her, and instead bottle them up to prevent it from exploding. She supposes that, over time, she had eventually learned to completely withdraw herself back from her sister.

All she ever started doing was a routine: mask the emotions, bottle them all up, and put on a happy face. It’s how she became good at it, how she became such an expert in appearing happy despite every cell in her body screaming otherwise—but she does it anyway, for Yelena, even until now, for Sarah.

“And I didn’t know how to tell you because you always seem so shut off whenever I do, and the _only_ way I can get you back is if I talk about me, and my life, but I never knew anything about you. And eventually, I never knew how to talk to you, how to communicate with you in such a way you’d do the same,” she continues, and Natasha feels the corners of her eyes stinging as she swallows down her throat. “Even after university, even during medical school, there was no way I could learn things about you beyond the surface. And I _wanted_ what was beneath the surface, Nat. I wanted a _piece_ of you, even just a small piece. I wanted to _know_ you, because you’ve always done your best in getting to know me, making me feel happy and making me feel safe and secure. You’d always tell me to let go, and to let it out, and to not hold it in whenever I cry, or whenever I get upset, and I never got to do that with _you._ And it feels unfair that Papa made both of _us_ promise to take care of each other but it’s always just _you_ doing it for me, and not me for you.”

Natasha licks her bottom lip as she sniffles. “You took care of me,” Natasha says quietly, her voice breaking, as a tear slips from her eyes and she quickly wipes it off. “You took care of me, Lena.”

But Yelena shakes her head as a tear also slips from her eyes. She immediately wipes it too, and attempts a small smile at her sister. “I never did,” Yelena answers softly. “‘Cause you always shut me out whenever I try to.”

Natasha takes a shaky breath and shakes her head. “Lena…” she trails off.

“That’s why when you introduced me to Clint, and Laura and Bucky, and everyone you know now, _God,_ Nat, I was...I was so _happy,”_ Yelena tells her. “Because, finally, I got to see at least a _few_ people whom my sister hangs out with. Finally, there’s a glimpse of you I never got to know. And when Bucky and I started talking more frequently because he _wanted_ to get to know more of _you,_ that’s when the exchange of information about _you_ started. He asked me questions to help Steve who had _liked_ you since then, and I got to ask _him_ questions because I never knew anything about you.”

Natasha blinks as Yelena sighs. “The specialization, shift of fellowships, everything about Sarah beyond the things you allow me to know, I _know_ from Bucky, because apparently _he_ knows more than me,” she tells Natasha, who shakes her head. “And I _know_ it’s weird, I _know_ it’s the most stalker approach, and I _know_ it sounds desperate, but it was the _only_ way I can get to know you, Nat. I was _desperate_ to know you, to know how to take care of you, because I can never know coming from you. I can never _know,_ but I need to know, especially now I know you’re not fine like how you’d always tell me.”

It’s Natasha’s adapted defense mechanism against her sister, and she knows it. It’s a way for her to keep herself in check, a way for her to prevent breaking down in front of her sister, and having her sister feel the brunt of her pain and sorrow. She’s grown past the conscious defenses, and perhaps she had gradually developed the natural instinct of “being fine”, and telling her that she is fine whenever Yelena would ask her, especially when Natasha would sense that her sister is not, and so Natasha would put her first and push down all she’s feeling down.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha whispers, looking up at her sister as her vision blurs and more tears start filling her eyes. Yelena sees this and shakes her head, just as Natasha wipes the tears from her eyes. “I’m sorry, Lena, I’m…”

“No. No, Nat, hey,” Yelena says gently, walking over to her sister and cupping her cheeks with her hands, as her thumbs brush her cheeks, wiping away the tears. “Don’t say sorry, Nat, I’m...I’m not asking for it. I'm just...I just...” She shrugs. “I did say I wanna explain, right?”

Natasha sniffles, and wipes off the tears on her cheeks and in her eyes. “I was trying to protect you,” she says quietly, shaking her head. “I was trying to protect you, Lena, it’s all I ever tried to do...protect you, like what Papa said.”

“From you? I don’t want that, Nat,” Yelena tells her gently, her hands traveling down to her shoulders as she grips Natasha gently. “I’m not the fifteen-year-old girl who needs to be protected anymore. I’ve seen a lot, gone through a lot, and I’m not a fragile girl anymore. I don’t _want_ to be protected from you, I want to get to know you. I want to take care of you.” She gives her sister a small smile. “Let _me_ take care of you, as how you’ve always had taken care of me.”

Natasha tries her best to hold it in, hold the _pain_ in, the pain of loss, of missing their father, of the pent-up emotions she had been keeping over the years, and even just from the day. She tries her best to hold the tears back, but now as her sister continues to speak, she finds it increasingly difficult to hold the tears in. And after everything that's happened, she doesn't even have the energy to try anymore. “Talk to me, Nat,” Yelena pleads gently. “What’s in your mind?” she asks softly.

She closes her eyes, breathing heavily and trying her best to push down the pain, but Yelena cups Natasha’s face in her hands, and she lets out a small whimper, opening her eyes as more tears fall and she scrunches her face at her sister. “He’s moved on,” she tells her quietly, her voice breaking, and Yelena opens her mouth slightly. “He’s moved on, and I haven’t.”

Because all that’s in her mind, and all that’s in her heart, all that hurts and all that she still loves and hates, makes her heart break and ache, it’s Steve. She thinks of Steve and it hurts, and she thinks of how he still has a hold of her heart, and she doesn’t with him—not anymore—and it’s unfair.

It’s unfair. It’s unfair, and she wonders what she had done in her life for her to deserve the unfairness of the world.

Yelena shakes her head as her eyes narrow, searching her sister’s eyes. “Moved on?” she asks quietly, and Natasha whimpers, giving her sister a small nod. “What...what do you mean, I...what do you mean?”

Natasha takes a shaky breath as more tears fall, and she swallows down her throat and licks her dry mouth. She takes another deep breath as she shakes her head and closes her eyes, throwing her head back in pure exhaustion. She’s genuinely surprised at the tears she was able to shed, because after her encounter with Steve in the elevator, she was practically convinced she couldn’t cry out anymore tears because she had maxed all the fluids in her body after all the crying from today. But she was more so genuinely surprised of how she is still even _awake,_ after feeling so tired and exhausted from the emotional rollercoasters of today—from Alison Sloan’s case, to talking to Sharon and learning about the new relationship, to her argument with Bucky and subsequent panic attack, to her eventual encounter with Steve in the elevator, and _now,_ to her very recent conversation with her sister.

 _Wow,_ she’s had one _hell_ of a day, huh?

Yelena seems to sense this, as her hands travel from her sister’s face and down to her shoulders so she can lead Natasha to sit on the couch. She watches as her sister takes a few moments to herself, as she wipes away the silent tears flowing from her eyes as she takes a few deep breaths. Yelena waits for her patiently, waits for her sister to gather what she can for herself before she could talk.

And she takes a final deep breath before she opens her eyes to look at Yelena, who is looking at her patiently and expectedly. She sniffles and blinks heavily and sighs. “You remember Sharon Carter? My friend in medical school?” she asks quietly, and Yelena tilts her head and nod.

“Blonde, tall woman?” Yelena asks, and Natasha nods.

“She’s a new attending too, peds surgeon,” she explains, and Yelena nods, signalling for her to continue, as she is still somewhat lost as to where this conversation is headed. Natasha sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “She’s Steve’s new girl, and she’s working in SHIELD too.”

Yelena frowns, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion as she shakes her head. “Wait, I…” she trails off, and blinks rapidly and shakes her head, and if circumstances were different, Natasha would actually be chuckling at how ridiculously confused her sister actually looks. “Steve has a _girl?_ A-and when he got back, he _brought_ her here?” Natasha nods, and Yelena’s frown deepens. “What’s he trying to do? I-I thought he came back here to...what is he even _doing_ here?”

Natasha shrugs, and Yelena scoffs, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. “First, he leaves the hospital, _then_ he leaves you, _then_ he comes back to, what? Flaunt his new girlfriend, _who,_ by the way, is _less_ hot than you!” she says, and Natasha actually chuckles softly at that. “What is he doing? W-what is he doing _back_ here?”

Natasha’s mind drifts back to her conversation with Bucky earlier that day, _I get the feeling he went here just for you,_ he said, and she didn’t want to believe him. She didn’t want to believe in that, didn’t want to get her hopes up that he had come back for her, especially when she had discovered of his relationship with Sharon, but after her brief moment with him in the elevator, their brief encounter, where she admitted to him that she missed him, where she _saw,_ and she heard in his voice, in his whisper that he misses her too, she allowed herself to think that maybe... _maybe_ Bucky was right, maybe—

 _No,_ she thinks, shaking her head as she sighs. Those are dangerous thoughts that she shouldn’t be thinking, thoughts that shouldn’t cloud her head and plague her thoughts. These are mere wishful thinking, optimism she couldn’t afford to have.

“I don’t know,” she answers quietly as she looks down at her lap. She leans back on the arm rest of the couch and props her elbow on the back of the couch, resting her head on her hand to look back at her sister. “I don’t know what...what he wants, or what he’s trying to do.” She shakes her head. “But I can’t, Lena, I…” she trails off and looks away. “I just can’t...can’t... _whatever_ with him. I can’t.”

Yelena sighs. “Has he seen you?” she asks. “I mean...in the hospital, have you seen each other yet?”

Natasha nods. “After I left my shift, on the elevator going down,” she says softly. _Might as well be honest, right?_ “I had...I had a bad surgery. Well...it’s the usual surgery where I find out my patient has cancer kind of surgery. _That_ kind of surgery.” Yelena nods understandingly. “And before that, I had a run-in with Sharon who told me her boyfriend was in an O.R., and when I checked the board, it happened to be Steve, so there was that too.”

“She didn’t know?” Yelena asks, and Natasha shakes her head. _“God,_ what an asshole.”

Natasha scoffs and shakes her head. “Tell me about it,” she murmurs and shakes her head. “And then during lunch, I had an argument with Bucky and...and after that, a full-fledged panic attack, and—”

“Panic attack?” Yelena asks, and Natasha sighs and closes her eyes. Of _course,_ her sister doesn’t know she suffers from such and has experienced such from the past.

“Another story,” Natasha dismisses, feeling too exhausted just by thinking of what happened earlier. “So Bucky told me to cut my shift, and when I was going down, I saw him in the elevator.” She shrugs. “And at first, it was casual and professional, you know? I got to ask him if he had an upcoming surgery, and he had a unique one that needed more hands, so I offered he could get Wanda. And then it was just…” She shakes her head and sighs. “I just felt so _heavy,_ and so suffocated, and there were so many things going on, so many...so many _emotions_ going on I needed to let some out. So, I…” she trails off and pauses, running her hand through her hair. “I told him I miss him.”

“You _what?”_ Yelena asks loudly, and Natasha groans quietly, throwing her head back and closing her eyes. “You told him _what?”_

“It was an out-of-body experience response, okay? I didn’t know what I was saying, and I didn’t even know I was saying it until I said it,” she defends herself, opening her eyes to look at Yelena who is now frowning and narrowing her eyes at her, as Natasha sighs. “It was a moment of daze, and with a lot of miscalculations on my part.” she mumbles.

“You call that a miscalculation?” Yelena scoffs, and Natasha rolls her eyes at her sister. “Nat, what were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t!” she answers, raising her hands and eyebrows. “That was the point—I _wasn’t_ thinking. I didn’t know I was doing it until I’ve done it.”

Yelena furrows her eyebrows and shakes her head, struggling to find the right words to tell her sister. _Moved on my fucking ass._ “Well...well do _you?”_ she asks, and Natasha frowns slightly.

“Do I what?”

“Miss him?” she asks, raising an eyebrow as Natasha sighs. “Do _you_ miss him? And you be honest with me.”

And Natasha whimpers and shakes her head as she looks away. “I don’t know,” she answers quietly, and Yelena’s frown deepens as Natasha looks back at her. “I don’t know, and I’m being honest.”

“You _literally_ just told him you did.”

“Yeah, but I was _so_ filled with emotions and I was so _tired,_ and God knows if I’m in my own proper self if I still feel the same way,” Natasha tells her sister. “I don’t know if I miss him, and at _this_ point, it doesn’t matter. It _can’t_ matter anymore, because he’s moved on, and I’m trying so hard for me to do the same because I _need_ to move on. For Sarah.”

And Yelena clenches her jaw at that as she purses her lips. “You know, there’s _that_ thing too.” she points out to Natasha quietly, as she sighs and nods. There’s _that_ thing—the biggest elephant in the elevator earlier today—the fact that Steve has a daughter he doesn’t know about, didn’t get the chance to know about because she hadn’t told him because she never got the chance to.

“And there’s _that_ thing too,” Natasha repeats quietly, and she tilts her head as she looks at her sister, the corner of her mouth quirking slightly upward. “What do you think Papa will say if he were still alive?” she asks quietly.

Yelena scoffs, smirking as she rests on the other arm rest of the couch. “He would’ve kicked Steve’s ass for one,” she answers, and Natasha smiles slightly at that, as Yelena tilts her head. “He would say a mouthful for sure. Probably scold you for crying or something.”

And Natasha chuckles quietly, raising an eyebrow in agreement at that. Knowing Ivan Litvinencko, he probably _will_ scold her eldest daughter for crying over a man, when she has a wonderful life going on despite everything—a good job, good living conditions, a beautiful and wonderful daughter, and a loving sister and circle of friends.

“Derzhi golovu vysoko,” Yelena says, and Natasha blinks, remembering the familiar words their father would always, _always_ tell them. She almost forgot about it. “Ty sil'neye, chem dumayesh'.”

_Keep your head high, you are stronger than you think._

Natasha smiles at that, just as Yelena smiles too, remembering their father’s familiar words echoed to them when they were younger, when they used to feel sad or upset, when they used to feel defeated because of a minor life inconvenience. “I miss him.” Natasha says softly, and Yelena nods as she smiles widely, extending her hand, her palm facing upward as Natasha takes it and gives it a light squeeze.

“I miss him too.” Yelena says softly, as a comfortable silence falls between the two sisters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope the comments and reviews here will be kind and constructive, especially so with the replies of our fellow co-readers here. :) The fic is overall VERY frustrating (I've finished the rough outline, so I can guarantee you with that piece of truth) and it has a really slow burn, but I do hope we don't get carried away too much. All stories and events will be unfolded VERY soon, so I hope you guys stay tuned to it.
> 
> With that, reviews and comments that incite healthy discussions are appreciated!


	7. History Has Its Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again, everyone, for your kind comments and all the support for this fic so far! Again, this is a long chapter ahead with LOTS of stuff to drink in (though I think it's not as emotional as the last one? probably still frustrating though), so I hope you bear with it. Hope you enjoy!

Steve sighs and stops in his tracks as he turns and faces Thor, who mirrors the same movements as him as he sticks out his hand for Steve to take. “Good job today, Doctor Rogers,” Thor says, as Steve takes his hand and shakes it. He gives Steve a wide and bright smile. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”

And Steve chuckles as he pulls his hand away and rests both of his hands on his hips.  _ “You _ did an amazing job, and thank you for letting me in too. It’s an honor to work alongside you,” he says with a smile. “Hope we’d get to work on more cases soon. Though I don’t doubt we’d have to work together again anytime soon.”

Thor laughs at that and nods. “Cardio cases never rest. And not at all to sound cruel and inhumane, but I’m looking forward to more to work with you,” he says, and Steve laughs and shakes his head. Thor gives him a nod as he removes his scrub cap. “I’ll catch you around, Doctor Rogers. Thank you again and great job!” he says with a wave, as Steve waves back with a smile.

“Thanks again, Doctor Odinson.” he calls out as Thor turns and walks off to the nurse’s station and Steve walks to turn the corner to the opposite hall back to the attendings’ lounge.

But Wanda intercepts him as he is on his way back. “Doctor Maximoff,” Steve greets with a smile as he stops in front of Wanda, as the resident gives him a wide smile. “I didn’t get to say it earlier, but thanks for letting me in on this one.” She huffs out a chuckle as she shakes her head and rests her hands on her hips. “Man, the stories I’ll have for other residents who weren’t  _ in _ here for the surgery. This one’s…” She shakes her head and smiles wider. “I’ve never seen nor heard anything like this one.”

Steve chuckles and nods. “It’s a unique case, one especially unique for a four-year-old, especially since it’s confirmed that it’s only an intracardiac tumor but also extracardiac in the wall,” he says, and Wanda nods. “But we’re just lucky Doctor Odinson had a plan for all possible cases and scenarios and we didn’t encounter any complications.” He offers Wanda a small smile. “And we’re lucky we have a lot of hands to help, of course.”

“Oh please, the kid was lucky to have two good cardio surgeons,” Wanda says with a laugh. “The residents and interns in there, we’re just bits of extras, but you and Doctor Odinson were the real deal. Will you guys ever think of publishing the technique or something?”

Steve laughs and shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks at the resident. “Well, you’d have to ask Doctor Odinson for that since it was  _ his _ surgical plan and we all just followed it,” he says, and then the corner of his lips quirked up into a small smile. “Though I highly think he’ll allow you in the publication if you’d shift your field of specialization to cardio.” he teases, and Wanda smirks and raises her chin as she crosses her arms over her chest—a movement she had  _ definitely _ picked up from Natasha, her mentor, and Steve knows this, because he used to watch the same movements unfold  _ each _ and every time he’d tease her about surgeries when she had once been his mentee.

Many,  _ many _ years ago, when their life had been simpler and their love had been fresher as each passing day’s morning sun, when their words exchanged to each other had been nothing but words of encouragement and words of love, when they would look at each other, and instead of feeling pain, they would feel warmth; instead of feeling immense sadness, they would feel relief and regret.

Those were the simpler days.

“Now you’re just playing dirty here,” she teases as she raises an eyebrow. “You’re stealing a resident from Nat.”

Steve chuckles softly and shakes his head. “I’m not stealing as much as giving you a brighter path,” he offers teasingly and lightly, but Wanda snorts and smirks as he grins. “You’ve seen the wonders of cardiothoracic surgery.”

“And I have seen the wonders of neurological surgeries, and I am  _ more _ inclined to the calling of neuro than in any other field,” she says, and she tilts her head. “I think I should be flattered attendings are fighting and clawing each other to take me under their wing.”

Steve scoffs playfully and shakes his head. “Don’t hold your breath on that.” he says, and Wanda grins widely as she shakes her head and chuckles.

“Anyway, thanks again for letting me in,” Wanda tells him, and Steve nods and smiles. “Whether it’s...really something Nat told you or not,  _ still... _ thanks for letting me in the surgery.”

Steve huffs out a quiet chuckle as he looks down. Earlier, she had told him Natasha had given  _ him _ permission to allow Wanda in a cardiac surgery under Steve’s wing for the remainder of the day, and she didn’t believe him, because in Wanda’s own words, she couldn’t believe Natasha “would ever bat an eyelash at him”, much less talk to him. She was later convinced to join in when she just found out about the extent of the surgery. “She really  _ did _ tell me, you know, and you can ask her about it,” he tells her quietly, as he looks back up at the resident. “I know it’s...hard to believe and all that.”

“I’ve seen greater things that are harder to believe,” Wanda tells him softly, and he sighs, as she offers him a small smile. “D’you get to talk more before she left?”

Steve shakes his head and sighs as he looks away and clenches his jaw, because even if he wanted to say more in the elevator, he didn’t.  _ Silence. _ There was only utter tense silence and missed moments in the elevator. “I couldn’t say anything,” he admits quietly as he shakes his head and takes a deep breath. “And I wanted to, I...I wanted to, but…” he trails off, swallowing as he shakes his head, feeling yet again another pang in his chest as he furrows his eyebrows slightly. “I don’t think anything I can say to her at this point is the actual right thing to say.”

Wanda nods slowly as she sighs. “Well, I think  _ anything _ at all is still better than nothing,” she offers him and he sighs, raising an eyebrow in agreement as he looks away, as Wanda purses her lips. “Did she tell you why she was going home?” Steve furrows his eyebrows at her as she shakes her head. “‘Cause she didn’t say anything. At least to me.”

“I thought she said she had an emergency,” he replies, and Wanda’s eyes widen as if in understanding as she just nods. “Maybe it was rushed...that she didn’t have any time to tell anyone.” he offers quietly, and Wanda hums.

“Yeah, maybe,” she says quietly, but she shrugs and huffs out a breath. “Anyway, I’ll see you around, Doctor Rogers, and thanks again.”

Steve hums and smiles as Wanda turns and walks off, and Steve then proceeds to walk back to the attendings’ lounge as he removes his own scrub cap, folding it and tucking it in his white coat. He pulls out his phone from his pocket to check the time—and sees a text from Sharon telling him that she had gone ahead at home, and another from her telling him she was already at her Aunt Peggy’s. He stops and furrows his eyebrows in confusion, eventually recalling her telling him earlier this morning about visiting her aunt in Brooklyn, and she had requested for Sharon if she could stay with her for the night, upon learning she had moved to New York.

He sighs and puts his phone back in his pocket as he pushes the door to the attendings’ lounge open, and he pauses in his tracks, heart beating fast against his chest, nervous and uncertain of his next move, especially when he sees Tony removing his white coat as he turns when Steve enters in. The plastic surgeon gives him a small nod in acknowledgment, as Steve does the same, a little ounce of relief washing over him—as if Tony’s small ounce of acknowledgment was enough of a permission for Steve to proceed—as he closes the door behind him as he proceeds in front of his locker, his steps taken almost too cautiously, carefully, in case any of his movements would annoy the other man in the room, whom Steve is sure is mad at him, of course.

But he doesn’t seem so, because he is the first one between them to speak up. “Just got off a surgery?” Tony asks, and Steve looks back at the man who looks at him expectedly, as he nods.

“Yeah. It’s the one with Thor,” he replies, and Tony hums, as Steve turns back to his locker to hang his white coat. “Wilson was there with us, so...it’s the surgery where we hoarded as much hands as we can.”

“You both hoarded residents and interns, but I can’t say I’ll blame you for that,” Tony says, and Steve huffs out a chuckle as he hangs up his white coat in his locker and retrieves his change of clothes and things. “Though we had to deal with the leftovers, Rogers, and I’m  _ sure _ you recall what it felt like to  _ still _ work with the leftovers.”

Steve chuckles as he removes his scrubs to change into his fresher set of clothes that he retrieves from his locker. “You still call the bad weed leftovers?” he asks, and Tony snorts.

“And  _ you _ still call them ‘bad weed’? What kind of ‘70s hippie shit is that?” Tony asks, and Steve couldn’t help but laugh at that as he shakes his head and folds the scrubs back to place it neatly in his locker. “I mean,  _ sure, _ ‘leftovers’ is as bad, but... _ bad weed? _ I’d think Seattle might have taken that habit away from you, but three years never did a thing on what you call bad interns and residents.”

Steve freezes for a moment. “We just didn’t make use of them that much back there,” Steve replies almost quietly, as if ashamed to have to hear and talk about about  _ any _ bits of the life that he had lived in Seattle, as he sits down on the benches to change his shoes. “But it’s what we used to do here, right? Literally  _ leave _ the leftovers as just...you know, leftovers, and make use of the good ones?”

“Yeah, but you guys  _ hoarded _ every good ones we have, we practically had no choice,” Tony says, closing his locker as he slings his bag over his shoulder and turns to Steve, who gathers his things as he turns to look at Tony who takes a few steps towards him. “You gotta  _ at least _ tell me you gave these interns and residents a good time, or they learned something at the very least.”

“I think they did,” Steve replies with a soft chuckle. “If it didn’t show enough with the amount of talk they had once the surgery was over, or the amount of questions they had during the surgery itself—”

“So you’re saying cardio’s stealing, like,  _ half _ of the residents, right? It’s what all of this is?” Tony asks seriously and stoically, but Steve knows the man enough to know that his remark is really just a light tease, and he lets out a soft chuckle and shakes his head. “I might go to work tomorrow and Wilson’s gonna give me shit that he’s not interested in plastics anymore.”

Steve shrugs. “What can I say? Cardio really has its own wonders inside the O.R..” he replies lightly, as Tony huffs out a breath and rolls his eyes, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he looks away.

“I’ll pin the blame on you and Thor if I lose a resident,” he says, and Steve just smiles and ducks his head, swinging his bag over his shoulder. Tony then looks back and regards the man, and he clears his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to another, tucking one of his hands inside his jean pocket as the other grips the strap of his bag tightly. Steve looks back up at Tony who nods over at him. “Heading home for the night?” he asks quietly.

_ Home _ —such a foreign concept, most especially now.

Steve shakes his head, running his hand through his hair. Truth be told, he’s  _ tired, _ wiped from the surgeries he’s had and from...from seeing her and beating himself up for not saying anything. “Just going back to the apartment to rest.” he replies quietly, and Tony nods. He purses his lips and looks away as if in contemplation, one of his feet tapping on the floor and he clears his throat again.

“There’s a new bar across the hospital. They just started business last year,” Tony starts, and Steve’s eyes widen slightly in surprise. Tony looks back at Steve. “You might’ve not tried it yet...and  _ I _ haven’t, but the interns and residents said it’s good.” Tony shrugs and nods over at him. “Wanna have a drink at least for the night?”

Steve furrows his eyebrows, tilting his head slightly on the side in confusion. Tony Stark was asking him...if he wants to have a drink with him? If they can  _ hang _ for the night? Hang like two old friends who wanted to catch up with each other?  _ This _ Tony Stark, who had every right to be mad for his sudden disappearance and fleeing stint, the one who was evidently pissed at his sudden return and presence after three years of going off-grid with all of them, wanted to have a  _ drink _ with him? He knows it seems pretty simple to comprehend, really, because Tony had just asked a simple yes-or-no-question, an open invitation of whether he wants to accept or not. But Steve, for the life of him, could  _ not _ comprehend why Tony would want that, why  _ he _ would want to “catch up” or “have a drink” with him.

And Tony seems to sense Steve’s confusion and apprehension, and he releases a sigh. “Look, Rogers, I know you think half of the hospital hates you for coming back after leaving all of a sudden, and...you know, going  _ rogue _ in Seattle or something,” he starts explaining. “And  _ maybe _ you’re right, a selected few especially those  _ really _ close to Natasha hates you, but…” He sighs and shakes his head as he looks away. “Resentment is corrosive, and I hate it. It doesn’t suit me.”

Steve releases a breath as he nods, and he feels a sudden flicker of hope, a light flutter in his chest as he feels the weight inside of it lighten. And Tony continues, “And I doubt Romanoff hates you too, so there’s that…” He shrugs and releases a breath, and Steve’s eyebrow quirks suddenly at that. “I mean if she did, she would’ve...she would’ve just...hunted you down all over the hospital, straight-up smacked you or blacked you out with a mean punch but she didn’t. And if she didn’t...what right do  _ I _ have to?” He huffs out a small, breathy chuckle, as he looks away. “You owe her more than you owe anyone else in this hospital.”

_ You’ve hurt her more than you’ve hurt anyone in the hospital. _

“And if you’re staying here,  _ really _ staying here for good without running, you gotta at least tell me some stuff _ , _ man,” Tony tells him, looking back to stare at Steve straight in his eyes as he sighs and ducks his head, giving Tony a small nod. “Why did you leave in the first place? Why did you come back? What do you  _ want _ to happen now you’re back? Spare me details of your high drama with Romanoff if you don’t want to say it—if you don’t wanna say the parts we already know, but you gotta help me understand.”

And Steve nods, almost too quickly—because it’s not like he’s keeping it a secret now, right? At some point, he  _ knew _ that part of his return would have to require him to explain, and he’d  _ have _ to explain  _ all _ parts of his story from beginning to present, and whether it’s in front of Natasha or any one of his friends whom he had also left, he  _ will, _ and he will do so willingly. “I will,” he tells Tony firmly, looking back up at him with a nod. “I’ll...I’ll explain everything, answer all the questions you’d have, I promise.”

If he’s starting to come off as too desperate, he doesn’t care, and neither does Tony, it seems, as the man just nods at him, extending his hand to Steve who looks down and takes it. Tony’s grip tightens on Steve’s hand as he shakes it. “So I’ll take that as a yes, right? Drinks? On me tonight?” Tony asks, and Steve chuckles and nods as he pulls his hand away, as Tony nods. “Right. Let’s get going. Leave your car here or...something.”

They end up in the new pub Tony was pertaining to that’s on the other street across the hospital. It’s well-lit, not so dark and dim, and a bit sophisticated for what Steve remembers to be the usual pubs around the hospital that he, Tony, Bucky, Clint and Natasha used to go to. Tony pushes the door open, as Steve follows, his hand resting on the smooth paintwork coating on the door, pushing it open as a small bell rings on top of the frame. The pub is relatively empty for a Thursday evening, where he’d expect to see interns and residents from the hospital at this hour partying and celebrating for Happy Thursday, but instead he is greeted by murmurs and quiet conversations, the pop music from the jukebox in the corner beside the bar curving the room, still overpowering the quiet laughter and hushed conversations among the few customers spread in separate booths and stools.

He is greeted, of course, by the usual fragrance of alcohol, but it’s not as strong as the pubs he used to visit before, the scent becoming stronger as Tony leads him to the bar counter, him taking the stool in the corner as Steve takes his place beside him, resting his bag on the smooth wooden counter as Tony places his beside him, letting it rest on the white pane where the bar counter ends.

“Let’s see what this place has to offer. Hope they have some good ones,” Tony says, raising his hand and signalling to catch the attention of the bartender, a young freckled man with curly brown hair, who nods and approaches them, his hands busy wiping glasses. “One single malt scotch for me, and…” Tony looks over at Steve who sighs and nods.

“Make that two.” Steve says, and the bartender nods and walks away, as Tony turns in his stool to face Steve, his elbow resting on the bar counter. Steve mirrors the same movements, and his eyes flicker to Tony’s hand as it plays with the gold band on his left finger. Tony follows his line of sight.

“Got married last year,” Tony tells him, looking down at the gold wedding band on his left finger, his mouth quirking upward. “Finally got hitched to Doctor Potts...you know, from dermatology, in case you forgot.” Steve nods, and gives him a small smile.

“So congratulations are in order,” Steve says. “Even if it’s a year late, but I’m happy for you.”

Tony huffs out a small breathy chuckle. “Took a long time, I know. How many years was it?” he asks, and Steve chuckles, shaking his head.

“You were together even when we were still residents,” Steve answers with a nod, as the corner of Tony’s mouth quirks. “Even before Nat and I came to be.” he continues quietly, and Tony nods, as the bartender comes by and rests their drink on the counter in front of them, and the two men nod at the bartender in thanks.

Tony picks his glass up and raises it, as Steve follows suit with his own glass. “We’re not the only ones who deserve celebration,” he says, and Steve raises an eyebrow. “To returning old friends.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, giving Tony a small smile instead as he clinks his glass with his, both of them taking a sip of their drink. Steve furrows his eyebrows as he feels the drink burn smoothly down his throat, sending a spread of warmth in his stomach as he lets out a breath and puts the glass back on the counter. Tony rests his lips on the rim of the glass and eyes Steve carefully as he looks down at his hands, silence falling on both men as they both think and contemplate on who’s going to talk first, and what they were going to say.

What’s the right first thing to say, anyway?

And Tony opens his mouth to speak first, but Steve beats him to the punch as he looks around the place. “Last I was here, I remember this was a restaurant,” he says, and Tony closes his mouth, putting the glass back on the counter. “The old, dingy one that serves bad Italian pasta.”

“Fettuccine Fiesta,” Tony supplies, as Steve nods, and Tony lets out a chuckle as he shakes his head. “A weird mix of Mexican in the restaurant’s name that only wanted to serve Italian dishes. We should’ve figured the food would be bad if the  _ name _ in itself suggested it so.” Steve chuckles and shakes his head.

“Nat wanted to try this at first, and by the end of all of our shifts, she brought all of us here ‘cause she wanted to try their Four Cheese pizza they keep on advertising on their poster outside,” Steve says, and Tony smiles and nods as he remembers that day—one of  _ those _ days when things were simpler back then. “She didn’t even get to finish one slice ‘cause the crust was too hard for her liking.”

“It was hard for  _ everyone’s _ liking that we basically just left without even finishing the entire thing,” Tony says, and Steve laughs softly and nods. “After that, we didn’t go back, nor did we let her pick any restaurants for us to eat dinner to anymore.”

Steve smiles, and at the back of his mind, he allows himself to remember that day—almost five years ago, he thinks, when he and Natasha were just fresh in their new romance. He remembers the big grin on her face, the way her eyes sparkled when she had asked him if they could eat at Fettuccine Fiesta just so she can try the Four Cheese pizza they were advertising for a few weeks then. And he remembers her squeal, the way she jumped in his arms, still in her scrubs, and the way her arms wrapped around his neck, peppering his face with kisses when he finally told her that  _ yes, _ they can eat out in that restaurant. He remembers how excitedly she babbled to the rest of her friends about the restaurant, and how quickly she had persuaded the three other men to join them.

He also remembers the way her face scrunched in disappointment when the pizza she tasted turned out to be really bad. And it’s pathetic, but he can still remember how he thought that she was still beautiful even as she frowned and grew upset at the fact that she’s hungry, and she didn’t want to consume the rest of the “bad pizza” anymore. He can still remember the way his heart fluttered in his chest when she tucked her face in the crook of his neck when the others started teasing her about wrong choices of restaurants, and how she shouldn’t be allowed to pick out the restaurants they should go to anymore.

“She never did again after that, or if she did, she’ll always follow it up with ‘Tony said it was good’ or ‘Bucky tried it and said the food tasted great’,” Steve continues, and Tony laughs softly, shaking his head as he sips from his drink once again. “I remember just ordering Chinese takeout when we went home, and by then she was already too tired to even complain about her cravings for Italian.”

_ “You’ve a better judge of food and restaurants, you know,” she said, her mouth full of the egg rolls she was eating for dinner, as the both of them sat across from each other in their small dining table in their apartment. “I think from this day onwards, I should listen to you more when we’ll be going out for more dates.” _

_ He chuckled and shook his head, looking over at her and smiling widely. “So when you say you’re craving for pasta or pizza, I shouldn’t listen to you anymore?” he asked, teasingly, and she frowned, squinting her eyes at him, as he laughed loudly. _

_ “I said pick the restaurant, Rogers, not snub my food choices!” she exclaimed, and he laughed, leaning over across the table at her and giving her a kiss on the forehead as she hummed in contentment, smiling at him and rubbing their noses together. _

Tony nods, giving Steve a small smile, as the blonde looks away and sighs. Tony waits for him patiently, because he knows  _ this _ is the part where he should start talking, where he should explain why he left, why he came back, anything that happened during those three years—what led to those and what happened during. So Tony watches as Steve’s Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he blinks and looks down, pursing his lips together as if contemplating what to say next, or what to say  _ first. _ He figures he could prompt him into talking, maybe prompt him to start from the beginning, a question he has that he can simply answer so he could go from there.

But when there’s too many questions, there’s really no way to pick which one of them should he prefer to be answered first. So he stays silent, and he waits.

“I went back here for Nat,” he admits quietly, not meeting Tony’s eyes as he shakes his head. “I know it...it doesn’t seem like it. Not after what I did, and…” he trails off and sighs. “It doesn’t look like it now, does it?”

Tony clenches his jaw and swallows down his throat, the tips of his fingers tapping on the glass he is holding onto the counter. “You brought someone with you, someone from Seattle. You know how everyone talks around there,” he says, and then he narrows his eyes at Steve. “But she seems to be saying something contrary to what reality is, or you’re acting contrary to reality, I don’t know.” He shrugs. “It’s why we’re here, right?”

Steve purses his lips tightly and looks back at Tony. “Doctor Carter was one of the first ones I’ve met when I moved to Seattle,” he starts to explain. “It’s...it was one of those where you hit it off right away because you worked together so well after a surgery. Where one look in the eye after coming out of that O.R. you knew and you  _ wished _ the chemistry of how you worked inside there would transcend even outside of that? And you thought...you thought it wasn’t even the  _ rush, _ the adrenaline and the high experienced during the surgery...it was something else.”

Tony leans back in his seat as his back rests on the pane behind him. “Like you and Romanoff hit it off right away after  _ that _ surgery?” he asks.  _ That _ surgery, which both of them always talked about whenever anybody used to ask them about how they got together. That surgery—a close call with a patient with cardiac myxoma, one of their first surgeries where she was still under his service as a cardio attending, where she had practically saved the patient’s life because of her steady, precise hands and how well-coordinated they had been in that operating room.

That surgery jumped off their romance, and...how would Steve would explain this?

“It’s not like that,” Steve answers quietly, and Tony tilts his head, and Steve pauses for a moment, furrowing his eyebrows slightly. “I can’t...I can’t explain how it had been for me and Nat...how we started. When we started, after  _ that _ surgery...it wasn’t just a look. Not even the thrill of an inevitable chase. It wasn’t just...not just a simple eye contact after a high rush from a successful surgery.” Steve shakes his head and sighs, and Tony just watches him patiently.

“With Natasha, it was coming up for fresh air after a long and high sprint, after an endless chase, and finding myself able to breathe again,” Steve says softly, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards into a small smile, as his blue eyes sparkled even in the low, dim light of the pub. “And when we kissed after that surgery, when I cupped my hand on her face and I held her in my arms, it felt right. It felt like I was home. It felt like I was saved—that  _ she _ had saved me from an endless chase of nothing because I had finally found the one. I found  _ her.” _

_ He was scrubbing his hands post-surgery when she came out of the O.R., smiling when he looked up and saw her, as she paused in her tracks and tilted her head, her hand gripping on the edge of the sink as she leaned against it. He smiled widely, turning the faucet off and faced her, mirroring her movements as he looked at her, and how beautiful she was, even if it had been their last surgery for their shift and it was in the late hours of the evening, she still looked beautiful, so fresh like it was just the morning, and she’s just about to jump start her day with a surgery. _

_ “Hi.” he greeted her softly, and she smiled widely, letting out a soft chuckle as she ducked her head momentarily before looking up at him, her green eyes sparkling and bright, making his heart flutter even more at seeing her beautiful smile. _

_ “Hi.” she responded softly, and he grinned. _

_ And it didn’t take long—as it only took a few beats, a few seconds and moments—before he walked over to her, and rested a hand on her hip, his other hand tipping her chin up as he kissed her softly and slowly. She hummed against his mouth, and he felt her smiling against his mouth before she kissed him back just as slowly and softly, her hands sliding up to rest flat on his chest, one hand resting on his cheek, her thumb gently brushing his cheek. _

_ The kiss wasn’t rushed, nor was it too slow either. There was no rush, and there was no chase. It was slow, yes, as if time had stopped, and all that mattered was just them, but it was also so natural, as if habitual—like they had done it a thousand times even if it was only their first, and like they would do it a thousand times more for the rest of their lives. It was just right. They felt just right with each other in that one kiss. _

Steve’s chest constricts, his heart aching as he sighs and ducks his head, shaking it as he closes his eyes and scrunches his face, forcing the pain to go down, forcing the regret and sadness that comes with the pain to fade away, as he remembers  _ that _ moment—their first kiss, the one where he finally allowed himself to admit that he was falling in love with her, and where she allowed herself to fall in love with him too. He remembers thinking to himself back then that  _ that _ was it, that  _ she _ was it, and anyone else that preceded her meant nothing as he promised himself to never have another after her.

He runs his fingers through his hair and sighs, lifting his head to look away,  _ anywhere _ away from Tony’s gaze, as the man just sighs and looks down, because they’re both thinking the same thing—even if Steve had claimed that he had found the one, that he had found  _ her, _ he still hurt her and left her, he still somehow gave up on her.

Steve feels like an ass, and in all honesty, Tony just feels so downright confused and frustrated, but he wills himself to let go of the latter.

“If you said you found her, why did you leave her?” Tony asks quietly, and Steve looks back at him with glassy eyes. He clenches his jaw and takes a deep breath, taking a moment for himself before he speaks again. He straightens himself and releases a breath.

“We were fighting, and it wasn’t...it wasn’t the usual fight we had, and we’ve had  _ plenty _ of fights in the duration of our relationship,” Steve says, and Tony nods. “She would come home after a shift, and she’d always be in a foul mood, so she’d take it out on me and I’d let her. After some time, and I couldn’t handle it anymore, so I started fighting back. And it was...it was  _ one _ thing that comes with another. One minute, we’re arguing about as simple as which flavor of pizza to get as takeout, and five minutes after, we’re arguing about a surgery we did  _ weeks _ prior to when we talked about it. Then half an hour later, we’re back to having sex and loving each other, and then we argue again but  _ this _ time it’s about whether it was my turn or her turn to take out the trash that eventually conflates into something bigger—something unrelated, like her sister, or her field of specialization or something else.” He shakes his head and runs his fingers through his hair. “It’s one fight after another, each one getting bigger, each one growing  _ more _ complicated and  _ longer, _ and...and it was tiring. It was…” he trails off and sighs, pursing his lips together tightly and shaking his head.

_ Too volatile, _ it’s what it was, so readily and easily vaporized once heat is applied to it. They were two volatile individuals from the beginning, and they became even more so as time passed, eventually reaching the end of their relationship. What happened to them was everything that could go wrong in a relationship, he figures. Over time, at the flickering end of their fuse, she had drifted away, and he chose to swamp himself with a lot of surgeries and a lot of work. It had been a natural fade-out, or so he thought, and when he had noticed it, it had been a little too late.

“I didn’t give up. Not initially, because I didn’t want to let her go, and I wanted to fix what we had, what  _ we’ve _ broken—what  _ I _ had broken. But I would ask her for dinner, and she would respond how tired she was that she’d go home by herself. I would talk to her, she wouldn’t talk back. I would wrap her in my arms, but she would shrug me off,” Steve continues quietly, as he shakes his head. “And I’m not...I’m not pinning the blame on her, just... _ not _ completely. And then after some time, we were sitting down in our living room, just the two of us on our day-off and I asked her if she still wanted this, if she still wanted  _ us.” _ Steve pauses and swallows down his throat.

_ “Nat,” Steve started softly, the corner of his eyes stinging as it filled with tears, and he felt his heart sinking slowly, his chest aching and his throat constricting as he watched her look away. She was sitting across from him, on the other side of their L-shaped couch in their small living room, and he was on the other side. He swallowed down his throat, but he willed himself to continue to look at her, even if it was hurting him, even if just looking at her...hurt. “Nat, do you still want this? Do you still want us?” he asked softly. _

_ He watched her bottom lip quiver as her eyes became glassy as she ducked her head, clasping her hands together as she rested her elbows on her lap. She rested her forehead on her clasped hands as she took a shaky breath, and for a moment, Steve was convinced that she was going to say no, that she didn’t want this anymore, that she had reached the end—they had reached the end, and it was time for them to let go. _

_ “Nat.” he tried again softly, his voice breaking in the end as he felt tears starting to stream down his face. Because then, he started imagining a life without her, and he couldn't because he felt like he couldn’t breathe without her, much less live without her. So the prospect of letting go and giving up—he felt like that wasn’t it, that it was wrong, that it was painful because it’s wrong. _

_ She didn’t say anything, but instead she got up, and when he looked up, she crashed into his arms as he caught her, guiding her to sit on his lap. He leaned back, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist as she sank against him, burying her face in his chest as she sobbed, clutching his shirt tightly in her hands—as if anchoring her to him, as if he was the one pulling her together, and keeping her grounded. _

_ “I’m sorry,” she sobbed, her voice murmured against his chest, and he sighed as more tears flowed down his cheeks, his hand rubbing against her back as he pressed his lips on her hair, making her cry even louder. “I’m sorry, Steve, I’m sorry.” _

_ Steve shushed her gently, murmuring to her that it was okay, that he was sorry too as he continued to soothe her and press more kisses on her hair, but she just continued to sob. “I love you,” she said, lifting her head to look up at him, and she lifts her hands to cup his face, her thumbs brushing gently on his cheeks as she leaned up to press a sloppy kiss on his mouth, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care, so he kissed her back as fervently and as sloppily. _

“She just got up and wrapped her arms around me, and she cried silently in my chest and I held her, and that evening she told me she loved me, and she was sorry. I told her I was sorry too, and that I loved her. And I thought we were fine. I thought we were okay, that  _ we’ll _ be okay.” he tells Tony.

Because he knows Natasha. He knows words fail her easily, and how hard is it for her to admit that she is hurt or upset. He knows that she tried, and she did so in small actions like a simple hug or kiss, or just simple, endearing words, so as to let him know that she was still with him and that she would never leave him even if things had been rough. He understood her that way, and he liked that she allowed him to understand her in that sense too, that  _ he _ was the only one who understood her that way.

_ “I love you.” she murmured against his mouth, and he hummed, his hand slipping up to the back of her head, his fingers buried in her hair as he just kissed her back hard. “I will always want us. I will always love you.” she murmured. _

_ “Me too,” he replied, murmured and muffled against her mouth as he pulled away slightly, pressing his forehead against hers, as they both caught their breaths, and he pressed a small chaste kiss on her lips. “I will always love you.” _

And he really thought they would make it.

“But you weren’t,” Tony supplies quietly, as Steve looks back at him. “You weren’t okay.”

Steve pauses, lifting his glass to drink the rest of his drink, swallowing down his throat as he shakes his head. “No, we weren’t,” he answers quietly, and he tilts his head to signal the bartender for another round, as Tony finishes his own drink. “Or at least  _ I _ wasn’t. And you know about that part.”

Tony raises an eyebrow, releasing a breath as the bartender comes to pour them their drinks, and both men nod in thanks to the young man. “I wish I didn’t,” he responds quietly, taking a sip from his drink. “Was I the only one who knew?”

And Steve nods, because he was, or at least, he was the only man Steve ever told these things about. Tony was the only one who knew that, in the height of Steve’s attempt to never let Natasha go, never let her drift away and aloof, he had become so possessive to the point of suffocation—strangulation, in Tony’s own words when he had confronted the man about it. Natasha knew about it too  _ (duh), _ about the way Steve would become jealous when Banner would get Natasha under his service, and she would thrive in neuro than cardio, about the way he would shrug off her small wins in neuro procedures, about the way he’d laugh whenever she’d open to him about new institutions reaching out to her offering fellowships in neuro, instead insisting to apply for more cardiac surgery fellowships. Natasha knew about the way Steve’s mood would swing the other way whenever he would catch her having lunch with Bucky when Steve would be in surgery, and the way he would immediately grab and kiss her even as she and Bucky would just be talking or laughing in the lobby.

Natasha initially never complained, instead went with the normal stead of their relationship—because she had apparently figured it was only fair  _ he _ would treat her like shit after she treated him as such, and instead decided to forgive him like how he forgave her. But like Steve said, they were  _ both _ volatile individuals, not just him.

“You were suffocating her,” Tony points out quietly. “She already told you that.”

_ Once. _ Once, because she only had the chance to tell him about it once before he decided to leave and call it quits. It had been the night before he left, when they were practically already screaming at each other in their shared apartment, when Natasha finally told him he was suffocating her, when he had wrongfully accused her of being too close to Bucky, his best friend, and when she finally told him she couldn’t handle it anymore—she couldn’t handle  _ them _ anymore.

_ Natasha held up a calling card, right after he had accused her of being too close to Bucky, right after she had told him he was suffocating her, right after she finally screamed and told him she couldn’t handle him anymore—she couldn’t handle them, not this volatile them, not this very flammable and fragile remains of a relationship, and they both stopped. They stopped, because they have reached that moment—that one excruciating where they found themselves in one place, and then another, until it finally felt like one long, inescapable moment. _

_ “Steve, they called me again, offering me the fellowship again,” she said firmly, her eyes glassy, her cheeks flushed and wet with tears as she held up the calling card in front of him, but his eyes were set on hers, and he pursed his lips together as he released a shaky breath and clenched his fists at his side. He didn’t need to look at it—he knew the fellowship they offered her, the one from Mayo Clinic, and they were persistent to get Natasha because of the number of recommendations she had. “Today. I can take the fellowship today right now, and at this moment, I can leave.” she continued, her voice firm and her teeth gritted. _

_ And Steve just stared at her hard. “You should. Go take it,” he told her, and even as her eyes started to fill with tears, her stare was still hard as she put the card down. “Go take it and leave.” _

_ “Oh, I’m leaving!” she shouted. _

_ “No, I mean it. Go. Now!” he shouted back at her, and she just stared hard at him as he released a breath, frowning deeply and gritting his teeth. “Go.” _

“She told me that, and then she told me she’d pursue this neuro fellowship in Mayo. I told her to go. I told her to leave then, and she stormed out for work because she was on a double shift and it was my day-off,” he explains quietly and shakes his head, looking at Tony straight in the eyes. “She didn’t leave. But I was the one who did.”

_ She shook her head, grabbed her bag and left, banging the door close behind her, all while he just watched and stared at the closed door in front of him. He knew she wasn’t gonna leave for Mayo, not yet. She was going to work—as she had a double shift, and maybe then she would have time to cool off, and he would have time to think and cool off after their fight. So he huffed out a breath and closed his eyes, sitting back down on the couch and burying his face in his hands. _

_ There was no time to cool off, or at least...he didn’t take the time to cool off. _

And he takes himself back to that day in April, three years ago—three years and one month ago, to be precise—when he had contemplated and eventually relented to leaving himself. He had a whole day for himself, during which he took the time to prepare his things, going back and forth between wanting to leave and not wanting to leave  _ her, _ encountering small notes and letters she had given him that he had kept, the pictures of the two of them all over their apartment, and the sketches he had of her in his sketchbook. He barely remembered the entire day, had barely gone through it as he was moving back and forth between crying and packing, between beating himself up and trying to be strong enough to convince himself he was doing this for the two of them.

_ Too volatile, _ he had thought—of this reason why he decided to leave. Too volatile, and practically losing themselves to this madness— _ he _ was losing himself in the midst of all of this. He needed to get away, get as far away as possible in an attempt to start over and find himself.

He never thought about returning, never thought about looking back, which was why when the sun had set and his bags were packed, he left his matching ring he had once bought for the both of them on his nightstand beside his side of the bed. He waited an hour, stationed himself in a payphone in JFK right after he bought a ticket to Seattle, before he called her.

_ Her voice was shaking when she picked up, so he figured she must have found his side of the closet empty, or she may have already found the ring he had left on his nightstand beside their bed. He had turned his phone off and tore the chip apart, and he had called her phone using a payphone outside the airport. When she picked up, he could hear her sniffling, her voice breaking and crying, and he closed his eyes, sighing as he felt his heart sink in his chest. _

_ He did this. He did this to her, but he’s also doing it for him. _

_ “Steve, where are you?” she had asked him, her voice shaking and breaking as she sniffled. “Steve, where are you going, please...please come home, please.” _

_ “Nat, I’m sorry,” he just told her in a hushed voice, and he could hear her small whimper on the other line, muffled, probably as she covered her mouth with her hand to hold back a choked sob. “I’m sorry I have to go.” _

_ “No, Steve, no, please. Please don’t go, please...please don’t leave, Steve, I…” she sobbed, and he felt his eyes filling with tears as she listened to her cries and sniffles, and it hurt him. It hurt him, even more so he knew he caused it—that he had done this. But she was right, he was suffocating her, the same way he couldn’t breathe by himself as well. “I love you. I love you, and please come home, please, I…” she trailed off and let out a soft sob as tears of his own streamed down her face. “We can fix this. Please, Steve, nobody needs to leave, and we can fix this—” _

_ “We can’t,” he whispered, shaking his head as he clutched the phone tighter against his ear. He looked up at the payphone, and saw that he had a minute left—a minute more before this conversation ends. One minute before his life would change. “We can’t fix this anymore.” _

_ “We can, Steve,” she insisted, letting out a choked sob and a whimper. “We can. Just go home. Just go home, Steve, please, I—” _

_ “Nat, I…” Steve trailed off, and he sighed as he paused, leaning his forehead on the phone as he shook his head. “I can’t do this.” _

_ “No…” she whimpered, and his heart broke as he took a shaky breath, and looked up to find that he had thirty seconds left. _

_ “I love you, Nat, and I’m always going to love you,” he told her, and he heard her sob and cry in the other line as he did so. “But I don’t want to anymore. I don’t want to love you anymore, I wanna be happy.” He paused. “And I want you to be happy too, and the only...the only way we could do that now is if we’re not together.” _

_ He contemplated on paying for another minute, another moment, if only he could hear her voice again. He contemplated on going back, on coming back home and never leaving. “No, Steve, that’s not true,” she told him, and his eyes flickered on the payphone, counting the few seconds left. “Please, please come home, Steve—” _

_ And it was the end. _

Tony leans back and watches as Steve gets lost in his own thoughts, probably thinking of  _ that _ night he had left, as Tony allows himself to think of  _ that _ same night—when Bucky called him, telling him Steve had left, and Natasha fled to Bucky’s apartment for the night. When Tony and Pepper dropped by Bucky’s apartment, the woman was shattered and a crying wreck, and when she started vomiting, they thought it had been due to her personal distress. Pepper insisted on taking Natasha home to their place, where she stayed for the night in her and Tony’s spare guest room, while Tony had to receive a phone call from Fury, demanding to tell him why Steve had resigned over the phone, as if Tony should know the answer to it when he didn’t. Natasha had overheard the conversation, and it only made the woman feel worse than she already was feeling.

It turned out that Natasha had  _ had _ worse that day, but that story wasn’t Tony’s to tell right now.

“I cut off everything and everyone,” Steve continues quietly, shaking his head, his forefinger tapping on the rim of the glass. “And I thought I could live a new life somewhere else, because,  _ God, _ Tony,  _ I _ was also suffocated. I needed a break. I felt like I was losing myself, and I was on the  _ brink _ of actually losing myself and I needed a fresh start, and I figured...Seattle would be good. Seattle was the  _ only _ place, because that was the only available flight left in JFK, and at that point I just thought...who cares, right? Who cares where I’d go ‘cause I was  _ that _ desperate to leave, and Seattle was  _ perfect.  _ Nobody knew who I was, I had no connections whatsoever, and I could...I could start over, find myself again.” Steve tells him with a huff, and he shakes his head and shrugs. “I’ve been trying to do that for three years now.”

Tony sighs and clenches his jaw as he swallows. “Did you?” he asks quietly, and Steve looks up at his friend. “Did you find yourself? Start over? Build a new life and all that?” He tilts his head and releases a breath. “Is this were Carter comes in the picture? Because when you saw  _ her, _ you felt like you could breathe again after what you and Romanoff had gone through?”

Steve feels a pang in his chest as he looks away and swallows. “I thought it was,” he confesses quietly, and Tony sighs as Steve looks back at his friend. “And I  _ hoped _ it was. Because when...when  _ that _ happened, when the eye contact and everything else, happened after the rush, I thought it was the same as how I felt with Nat. I thought it was the same kind of flutter in the chest, the same kind of...how right it had been when we kissed, and I kept on asking myself that. I kept on asking myself: ‘Was this how I felt when I kissed her?’, ‘Was this how I felt when we first spent the night together?’, ‘Was this  _ something _ that I felt with Natasha?’, and I just...”

Steve shakes his head, the corner of his lips quirking upwards slightly in a sad smile as he sighs. “That was the thing, wasn’t it? I kissed her, I slept with her, and all I could think of was Nat. Even as we were together, not doing anything, and I’d find myself drifting to the what-ifs, I’d still...all I could do was to compare her to Nat. And it was a jerk move, an  _ asshole _ move, so I stopped, and even before it could go anywhere else, I talked to her about it—about  _ not _ making it move forward. Because why?  _ Why _ was I even comparing? Why was I comparing with the  _ old, _ failed one? It didn’t work then, but why…” He shakes his head. “Why couldn’t  _ this _ give me the same feelings as I had with Nat?”

Steve pauses and takes a deep breath, and Tony nods as he ducks his head and sighs. Because  _ he _ knows, and the man knows it too, which is why he came back—even if it took him three years to do so.

“But I saw  _ her. _ I saw Nat, just earlier today before the big surgery, I saw her in the elevator. We  _ met _ in the elevator,” Steve continues with a shake of his head, as Tony raises an eyebrow. “And it was  _ nothing. _ It was just a simple,  _ small... _ painfully brief and small moment where we just talked so professionally, where she told me I can borrow Wanda for the day…”  _ Where she told me she missed me, but I didn’t say it back. _ “And even in  _ that _ small moment, I felt it again—the breath of fresh air, and I found myself being able to breathe again despite not being able to say it out loud. And that’s when I knew all the things I thought of, all the things I did, all the  _ wrong _ decisions I decided to take in our relationship...I did it all on the wrong person, because  _ she _ was the right person all along and I gave up on that.” He pauses and sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. “I had everything I wanted in her, and I took it for granted and left her in hopes I can find what she already  _ had _ in another. And they…” he trails off and opens his eyes to look at Tony. “They didn’t deserve that. They didn’t deserve to be treated like that.”

Steve swallows as Tony ducks his head again, and he continues, “When I told Sharon I wanted to go back to New York, that I was going to mend old wounds, fix what I broke, I was surprised that she told me she wanted to come with me,” he says, and Tony looks up and raises an eyebrow in surprise as Steve runs his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. I didn’t think much about it until...until it  _ did _ happen, and even then, I thought... _ great.  _ She’d be a good addition in SHIELD. She’d be a good colleague, a good friend, a good asset especially in the peds department.” He grimaces and shifts in his seat. “But it’s nothing more. ‘Cause we did sleep together—we slept together a couple of times ‘cause that’s the deal we had when I told her I can’t bring it forward.” Tony raises an eyebrow, as Steve shakes his head. “But we’re not...we didn’t hold hands, didn’t go out on intimate dates, didn’t even live together, we didn’t...we were never  _ together _ together, and she knew that. We’ve established that way back.”

“Did she?  _ Does _ she know you’re not together?” Tony asks, tilting his head in question at Steve. “Because the last I heard, when she introduced herself—again—to Natasha, and apparently they go  _ way _ back in med school, she told her you were her boyfriend—that you guys are together.”

“What?” Steve asks, furrowing his eyebrows and frowning, and Tony blinks, but afterwards he huffs out a chuckle in realization as he shakes his head and takes another sip from his drink.  _ Sharon had told everyone they’re together? _ “She..she  _ what?” _

“You heard me,” Tony tells him quietly as he shrugs. “And here I was thinking that  _ I _ had been the jerk around ladies, but, damn, look at you  _ now.” _ He pauses, raising his left hand at him as he points at his wedding band in front of Steve’s face. “And look at  _ me _ now.”

Steve knew of the possible misunderstandings the people in the hospital could possibly have—the initial impressions, the  _ mistaken _ assumption that they were romantically involved, as they  _ did _ go to SHIELD together. Steve fled New York, went to Seattle and went back with a girl—the perfect recipe for gossip, one that he had been ready to debunk, to prove wrong, hoping Sharon would be alongside him at that. But she’s...not? And she’s even telling everybody, including Natasha,  _ otherwise? _

What is even  _ happening? _

“Nat thinks we’re together?” Steve asks quietly, and  _ God, _ he can’t even explain how  _ horrified _ he is—how  _ sick _ he feels to his stomach just thinking of the possible things Natasha had thought in her head upon hearing that: upon hearing her  _ ex _ who had left her so suddenly, and had ultimately come back with a “new girl”. Did she get hurt? Did she get upset? Did he hurt her more than he ever had before? The feeling eats him up, like gasoline consuming his guts—eating his insides slowly and painfully, needing no more to spark it burning and ablaze, burning him inside and out until he feels his own face flush, his ears grow warm and his hands sweat. He feels like sinking,  _ sinking _ and burning and empty, and just  _ out _ of it. And he feels terrible,  _ horrible, _ because he knows despite everything, Natasha had felt worse than how  _ he _ himself does, and it’s all on  _ him. _ Everything is on  _ him. _

He’s a  _ jerk, _ that’s what he is, and he doesn’t even know half of  _ how _ he became a jerk.

“Well, she’s not the only one who thinks you’re together,” Tony points out quietly, as he breathes out a chortle and shakes his head as Steve’s eyes widen and he deflates with a groan, burying his face in his hands. Tony clicks his tongue. “Man, you’ve made one  _ hell _ of a mess, Rogers. Can’t wait to see how you’ll fix it.”

“Sharon and I are  _ not _ together.”

“Saying it to  _ me _ won’t fix anything.”

“We’re  _ not!” _ Steve defends.

“Then what  _ are _ you, exactly? Fuck buddies? Just to release off steam with each other for  _ three _ years?” Tony asks, and Steve takes a deep breath as he shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair exasperatedly. “I mean, I’m not gonna judge. ‘Cause...you know, you’re a  _ man, _ and she’s a woman, and  _ maybe _ she has her own needs too, but there  _ must _ be something in there that created a whole array of misunderstandings between you two—”

“We’re  _ not _ together and that’s  _ not _ a misunderstanding between the two of us, because we’ve already  _ talked _ about that. We share the same apartment in New York as roommates but that’s all that’s there. We never...we never  _ talk _ about having a relationship because we  _ know _ what we are, we know where we stand and we’re good with it,” Steve explains, furrowing his eyebrows as he shakes his head. “We’re  _ good _ friends, Jesus! She  _ knows _ that, she should  _ know _ that.” he exclaims.

“Then make sure to clear that  _ shit _ up with her before you do anything else,” Tony tells him firmly as Steve winces and looks back at his friend with a withered look. “Because the way she talks, the way you both  _ look _ and maybe  _ act, _ it makes it seem like you went back here in SHIELD to flaunt your new life to Natasha who’s doing her best to move on.” And Tony pauses, biting his tongue before he could say anything more, anything that’s not in  _ his _ place to say, and he sighs and shakes his head. “If you really want to fix whatever it was between you and Natasha, make sure  _ she _ knows you’re here to do  _ just _ that, and make sure that with the way you do it, it’ll be easy for her. You already made it hard for her when you walked away, and you’re not exactly making it any easier for her now that she knows.” Tony shakes his head. “It’s time you give her a break.”

And he thinks of their moment in the elevator—the  _ brief, _ excruciatingly tense and brief moment they shared—and thinks back to her glassy eyes, her pained expression and her hushed confession. She had endured  _ that _ moment, the one he thought he had mutually shared with her, all the while thinking that he was with another, that  _ he _ didn’t feel the same way when she told him she missed him, that he didn’t come back here for her but just to  _ flaunt _ to her the life he lived without her, and sucked it all up in those moments of silence.

Steve allows himself this moment to think. He had come back to New York, thinking of restarting, of redoing, of  _ fixing _ what he had broken no matter how long it would take him, all with the firm notion that not all people are perfect. Everyone’s done something, everyone has done something terrible—but  _ this? _ How does  _ one _ live with this? How would he get up every morning, face the world knowing that he could’ve done better, that he  _ should’ve _ done better? That he shouldn’t have ran off, that for some reason, he should’ve done better in understanding Sharon before they made an agreement—before he  _ used _ her, and he allowed her to use  _ him? _ Was sorry even enough? Can an actual apology, no matter how sincere it would be, actually heal the wounds and ease the pain? Can it undo the hurt that he had caused, and  _ will _ cause?

If there was a way,  _ any _ way he could do to magically change things, he would. He would, in a heartbeat.

And Tony, despite the situation and despite himself, actually  _ does _ feel remorse for his friend beside him. He had been one to witness the relationship, the romance between him and Natasha—the ups and downs of it all, most especially the downs that eventually ended the relationship. At some point, Tony did recall Steve telling him he was losing himself in the relationship, as if  _ he _ himself was also as strained and suffocated as how he had been straining and suffocating Natasha, and while he had attained his ultimate freedom, his breath of fresher air, in a rather surprising and undesirable way, Tony  _ somehow _ understood.

He was not the only one with the fault in this relationship, after all, as both of them did. He just ended it, and did so in a rather  _ elaborate _ manner, but even so, in a rather twisted way, Tony understood him.

“I don’t know what to do, Tony,” Steve admits quietly as he shakes his head, and he lifts his head to look back at him. “I don’t know what to do now, and I want to make it right. I mean, I...I  _ have _ to make it right somehow, I just…” He shakes his head. “I just don’t know what to do now.” He sighs. “I came here with a plan, and the plan was to  _ fix _ what I had with her. And I saw her in that elevator, and I figured  _ that _ wasn’t the plan. It didn’t feel right, it felt so…” He pauses and shakes his head. “And now I don’t know how to fix it anymore.”

Tony tips his chin up slightly and he straightens his body, leaning forward slightly over to Steve. “You did something indefensible,” he says quietly, and Steve nods in agreement as Tony sighs. “And right now I think the only thing you can do is just accept that what you did was wrong, and accept that the only thing you can do to fix is apologize, and then wait. And  _ maybe _ give it time, and  _ maybe  _ she will forgive you, or  _ maybe _ she won’t, but that’s not up to you. Not anymore.”

Steve swallows down his throat, and he looks down at his hands. “When you said...when you said she doesn’t hate me. Did you mean that?” he asks quietly with wide glassy eyes, that could be hazy from the alcohol, but Tony knew better that it’s also just the day Steve had endured and the wave of emotions that had come with it. “Did you really mean she doesn’t hate me, even after what I did?”

And Tony looks at Steve carefully as he asks that, as if the question is a million-dollar question that would define how he’d live his life from this point onwards, and perhaps it will. Perhaps it will define how he’d do his thing, how he’d execute his grand plan now he’s returned, how he’d try to fix things with Natasha and clear things up with Sharon.  _ No, _ she doesn’t hate him, and even as she tries to tell Tony that over and over again, he knows deep down she doesn’t, and he couldn’t blame her for it—not because of who Steve was, but because of what he had given her unknowingly when he left her— _ them _ —behind.

Tony just gives him a small nod. “You gotta find that one out for yourself,” he tells Steve who deflates visibly as he takes another sip of his drink, and Tony just watches him. “Just hang on, alright? Just...hang on to anything that could help you pull it together. Anything at all.”

Steve just nods and runs his hand through his hair. “I’m hanging on to every last shred of faith I have that it’ll be okay,” he admits quietly. “I’ll keep on hanging on until I see that it  _ is _ okay.”

And Tony nods, reaching to give Steve a pat on the shoulder. “You’ll see. Everything’s going to be okay soon.” he assures him softly, as Steve sighs and just gives him a small grateful smile, and Tony, by the end, pays for their drink in the bar before they go back to the hospital for their cars and off to their separate ways.

And the following morning, first thing at work, Steve is fixing the collars of his white coat, about to walk over to the attendings’ lounge when his phone beeps, and he pauses in the middle of the surgical floor lobby to check. It’s a page from one of the residents,  _ J. Simmons, _ asking for a neuro consult on the pediatric floor. Steve lifts his head and furrows his eyebrows in confusion, but he just tucks his phone inside his coat pocket as he turns around and to the corner where the elevators are, pressing the up button to the pediatrics floor. He gets his phone and turns his attention towards it instead as he waits for the elevator to come by his floor.

But Steve looks back up from his phone and turns his head, and his eyes widening slightly, his heart beating hard against his chest as a cold feeling washes over him, as Natasha slowly approaches and stops a few feet beside him, a surprised expression on her face as she does, as if unsure where to stand, unsure of the supposed proximity between them. Steve raises his eyebrows, looking at the elevator, then back at Natasha who instead relents on giving him a small tight smile as she looks back down at her feet, tucking both hands in the pockets of her coat.

“You’re, uh...going up?” Steve asks dumbly, inwardly wincing when once again, his voice comes out as tight and unsure. But Natasha doesn’t seem to notice, or if she ever did, she didn’t seem to mind nor care, as she looks back up at him and hums with a nod.

“Got a page from a peds case. Called in by Simmons,” she says, and Steve furrows his eyebrows slightly, as he looks back at the elevator that opens. He allows Natasha to go in first, following after her, as a few nurses and residents that are behind them join in, pressing their respective floors. Steve presses the floor to pediatrics, and his eyes flicker over to her as he ducks his head.

She frowns slightly, her mouth slightly open as if ready to say something, as her eyebrows furrow in confusion. She looks back up at him. “You too?” she asks quietly.

“Peds,” he says softly with a nod. “Also called in by Simmons.”

Natasha’s mouth slightly open in surprise and loss of words, and Steve purses his lips, watching carefully and gauging intently how Natasha’s reactions would be in case they  _ do _ end up in the same surgery together. Natasha blinks, and looks away and brushes her fingers through her hair as she furrows her eyebrows, as if  _ she _ herself couldn’t believe that they are about to possibly be in the same surgery together. Steve sighs as he looks down at his feet. He honestly wouldn’t blame her, though, if she wouldn’t take the case in case they do end up in the same case. He could drop the case too, refer Simmons to Thor for cardio consult, if Natasha wants to take the case. He’ll do it. He’ll do anything if she’s not at all comfortable with working with him.

So he clears his throat. “If...if you’re not comfortable—” Steve starts.

“What do you think it’s gonna be?” Natasha cuts off, as if not hearing what Steve is just about to say, and Steve pauses, blinking in surprise at the question. She looks back at him with wide eyes and she blinks. “I-I mean if it’s...if they’re asking for  _ both _ a neuro and cardio consult on a peds case—”

“It could be bad, something peds can’t handle alone, maybe?” Steve supplies as Natasha nods. “I mean...what are possible peds cases involving  _ both _ neuro and cardio that a pediatric surgeon couldn’t perform?”

Natasha sighs and crosses her arms over her chest, shaking her head as she looks up to check the floor number when the elevator stops, and three passengers get off. “Could be just a few. A  _ really _ bad hypoxic-ischemic brain injury, cardiomyopathy, encephalopathy…” she starts listing, narrowing her eyes in concentration.

“A cardio case resulting in brain injury,” Steve supplies, and Natasha hums, nodding. “I mean...on a kid, though?”

“It can happen,” Natasha mumbles, looking back up at Steve as she shrugs. “Things like that happen.”

Of course she would know. Steve  _ does _ recall what Fury had told him on their first meeting about Natasha: attending neurosurgeon with a double fellowship, one of which is in pediatric neurosurgery. She had seen and had probably treated kids with these kinds of injuries, diseases, the same way he had in a cardiothoracic field. And truth be told, despite the increasing anxiety and nerves he’s feeling, he’s actually pretty excited to work alongside Natasha, not as a mentor but as someone equal as him, with Natasha most likely even  _ better _ than him.

“Well, this should be fun.” he mumbles, and he almost winces, because he didn’t really  _ mean _ to say it out loud. But when he looks down at Natasha, a small smile breaks into her mouth as she purses her lips and hums, looking up once again to check the floor number as he smiles.

Maybe Tony was right: everything  _ will _ be okay.

The doors open to the pediatrics floor, and Steve gestures for Natasha to go ahead as she does, and he follows right behind her. The peds floor is bright—always  _ had _ been—in contrast to the bland cream-colored walls and floor of the other floors of the hospital. They walk past the rooms, all colorful and bright, past kid patients holding up stuffed toys and stickers, some with candies and lollipops, as they both smile at everyone whom they pass by. At some point, Natasha slows her pace down, allowing Steve to catch up with her, and they proceed to walk side by side to where they see Jemma Simmons, the resident who paged them, leaning on the nurse’s counter, and both of them pause in their tracks when they see the accompanying attending.

It was Sharon. Sharon paged  _ both _ of them in  _ her _ case.

Natasha takes a deep breath, closing her eyes, and releasing a slow breath, and Steve groans inwardly, shaking his head as he mutters a small “damn it.” under his breath. He furrows his eyebrows and looks down worriedly over at Natasha who just shakes her head, not looking up at him as she tucks her hands inside her coat pockets, and walks over to them, and Steve sighs and follows right behind her, both of them walking over to the counter where the two are discussing quietly, and Sharon looks up from her charts, smiling widely when she sees both Steve and Natasha.

“Well, isn’t  _ this _ fun?” Sharon asks, grinning widely, as Natasha gives her a tight smile, and Steve just sighs, giving Sharon a small smile. “Two of the most important people in my life working with  _ me _ on a case.”

Okay, maybe he spoke a little too soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind comments, thoughts and any reviews are appreciated! More stories to be unfolded in the next few chapters so stay tuned for moooore.
> 
> Also, for lighthearted stories, check my other work: After Running (I'm Coming Home) in my profile!


	8. Defying Odds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your continuous support, especially to those following this story! Just a heads-up again that this chapter is very long with a lot to unpack, so I hope you bear with it. And fair warning for any medical inconsistencies presented in this story. I can only understand a certain level of science, but I really tried my best to do as much research as I can for this chapter. So yay! Enjoy!

Sharon Carter considers herself a defier of the odds—especially those that are against her.

And contrary to how others perceive “defiers of odds” just like her, she does it so with a high respect and regard for both herself and others around her. She does her best to be kind at all times, set herself to be  _ that _ person who is kind and gentle despite belonging in a family who’s not so. When she was younger, her family and friends would used to call her a quiet, obedient, soft-hearted and gentle person—which was how the odds were created in the first place. When she was a kid, her family would never think she would make it, as they had always thought she would only relent herself into becoming a model or an actress when she would grow up (which is  _ nothing _ to be ashamed of, really, but in a conservative family of esteemed doctors—it was a  _ great _ shame). She was considered a weed in a garden of blooming flowers—a standout in a negative way. She was unlike her parents, both of which driven, outspoken and firm, unlike her aunt who was courageous and extremely brilliant at such a young age, and unlike her brother who had exhibited all of those things even at such a young age. No, she was quiet, obedient, always nodding and smiling in the background and never liked to be in the spotlight.

To an extent, her family underestimated her because of how she looked and who she had behaved, but they loved her nonetheless. She wasn’t hated at all, never disliked. They just made her feel underappreciated, pressured, a wallflower... _ different, _ even if she isn’t at all, and only when she got accepted in NYU to pursue a pre-medical degree that they were convinced that somehow, she was definitely  _ more _ than just the blonde-haired-brown-eyed quiet little girl they thought of her to be. She is smart, brilliant in a way that’s a little different from her family’s inherent brilliance, but still brilliant nonetheless. And she held her head up high through all of it—humble, still quiet and reserved, but inside she was beaming with confidence and pride of one of the first major odds she had defied.

She applied in Columbia University for medical school, the same school her whole family had studied for their medical degrees, and she made  _ that _ mistake apparently, because in there, the same odds were pit against her—only this time it had been harsher. People were familiar with the last name Carter. They knew her family,  _ knew _ of the medical lineage that had started with her grandfather and had branched out to her father and her aunt, and eventually to her brother. Her mother had been an esteemed doctor too, a woman who made a name for herself in the medical field. People expected so much of her—most especially her professors and the professionals there, expecting her to be at the top of her class and at the top of her game at all times.

But she wasn’t. Not  _ all _ the time, at least.

She was underestimated for the same reasons why she had been underestimated before; because she was what  _ the _ typical blonde looked like—tall, beautiful and...well,  _ blonde, _ and so people would perceive her to be just that—a blonde, in every possible connotation, most especially the degrading connotation. She did her best to mute it down, tone the taunts, the murmurs, steer herself away from the sharp eyes criticizing her every move, most especially the mistakes and small failures she would make once in a while. At some point during her first year of medical school, she envied those who were on top of her class—especially those who made no effort at all to be there, those who had no name to follow, no family to please. She envied those who were appreciated for their brilliance and talent, because all she ever was was mediocre, talentless... _ blonde. _

People don’t appreciate blondes—most especially  _ her. _

But there was one person she didn’t hate nor envy, the  _ one _ person who had appreciated her when they got to work together. She’s a beautiful redheaded Russian woman, the  _ one _ student who’s always at the top of her class and at the top of her game even without trying—a true talent who definitely belonged in the medical field. And Sharon knows she  _ should _ hate her, envy her as much as she envies those other students who are below this woman but somehow above Sharon, because she was always being pit against her. She had  _ become _ one of the odds she was challenged to defy, but can  _ never _ do it for the life of her. But she found a gentle humility in her underneath her professional drivenness and brilliance, a sort of kindness in that smile and the way she speaks, freedom in the way she moves that it’s  _ hard _ to dislike her and hate her,  _ extremely _ hard to consider her as one of those odds she needs to defy and put down. Because never once did she mention anything about knowing her family name, or knowing  _ her, _ except for one time—towards the end of their first year in medical school, when Sharon found  _ all _ of the aforementioned characteristics in this woman.

_ “I gotta be honest, I keep on hearing a lot of things about you, how they always compare you to your family and all that, and I’m sure you’ve heard a bunch of ‘em too,” she told her, while both of them were having lunch after working on a pairwork assignment for a class, and Sharon frowned slightly at that, but she looked up to her and smiled widely, her green eyes bright and sparkling as she did so. “But contrary to what they say and what you’ve already heard from them, I think you’re gonna be a great doctor, one of the best in our generation.” _

_ “You already are the best in our generation, Nat.” she told her, but she just chuckled and shook her head as she shrugged. _

_ “Lots of doctors can be the best in their generation, why should ours be any different?” she asked her with a grin, and Sharon laughed lightly and dismissively at that. _

_ “I’m not as good as you.” she told her quietly, but she nudged her gently with her elbow and smiled, and told Sharon the words she would remember for the rest of her career as a doctor. _

_ “You have talent, and you have heart—those are the two things they always say a doctor should have to be considered as the best. You just can’t see it now ‘cause you’re so focused on what they say and what they think, and you’re so focused on how your father did this, or how your aunt did that, but you’re not them, and they’re not you,” she told her. “Find your talent, find your drive, and focus on that. You’d be surprised at the lengths and strides you’d be able to take in the future once you do.” _

_ And Sharon smiled widely at that, chuckling softly as she looked at her. “How did you become more helpful and more encouraging than the rest of the staff here in medical school?” she joked lightly, and she laughed. _

_ “I just like seeing the good in others,” she told her, and she shrugged. “‘Sides, I need a healthy competition against someone. The rest of our class is just too eager or too aggressive they become worse than how they had been at the beginning. It’s exhausting.” _

_ She pulled her up so she can pit herself against someone, but somehow Sharon found that amusing, almost flattering more than anything else, as she laughed and shook her head. “Natasha Romanoff, you are definitely something else.” she told her, and she just smiled widely and tilted her head at her before she resumed eating. _

Natasha Romanoff had helped her defy the odds of what people say against her, even with those simple words she had uttered to her, because by the end of medical school, before they went on their separate hospitals to start their medical careers, she had found herself to better,  _ more _ confident and more sure of herself and her path. She had  _ indeed _ become one of the best in her class, one of the  _ best _ in their generation, and Sharon figured she owed a huge chunk of it to Natasha.

And she is nothing but  _ thrilled _ to see her approaching her after they’ve paged someone for a neuro consult.

Which is really the  _ exact  _ opposite of what Natasha is feeling as Natasha slowly approaches her, taking a deep breath and putting on a smile despite the hammering of her heart against her chest, the sweat gathering in her palms and the feeling of wanting to just  _ evaporate _ right then and there—of being pit between her  _ ex, _ and her old friend who’s apparently the new lady of her ex. She feels like she’s in a ridiculous high school drama, and as immature as it may sound, she really would honestly rather be  _ anywhere, _ anywhere at all but here.

And she feels  _ bad _ about it. Because  _ no, _ Sharon Carter is anything  _ but _ a horrible person, and her being mixed into this situation is  _ not _ her fault at all. She  _ likes _ her, had liked her ever since medical school when the woman was basically a wallflower who doubted every single step she took in med school just because of her family and what others thought of her. She’s a good friend—one of the good ones she’s had, and even if they’ve been apart and had never talked since graduating from med school when Sharon moved to Seattle while  _ she _ stayed in New York, she still considers her as one of the good people she had ever encountered in her whole life, more so a  _ good _ and talented doctor too. She would  _ hate _ to dislike her, even now that they’re stuck as workmates and colleagues, because she understands how much  _ she _ meant to Sharon, the connotation of how she became one of the most important people in Sharon’s life.

It just stings, hearing how Steve is the  _ other _ important person in her life when he was once  _ hers. _ As if she needed another reminder to know that he is not hers, that he will  _ never _ be hers, and she will never be his.

Not...not that he’d want her to, she guesses.

“Doctor Carter,” Natasha greets her softly, giving her old friend a nod and polite smile, despite the heavy feeling she is feeling inside her chest. She sucks up a deep breath and raises her eyebrows. “You paged for a neuro consult?” she prompts, stopping in front of Sharon and Jemma, her eyes flickering between the both of them. Jemma looks at her worriedly, but Natasha flashes a soft smile at the resident—as if to assure the girl that she’s fine, and working with  _ both _ of them will be okay. (She assumes the resident knows, because she knows Wanda is close to this girl, and she’d just be lying to herself if she says that rumors aren’t spreading around the entire hospital about Steve and Sharon.) Jemma’s face relaxes, and she flashes Natasha a wide smile.

“And a cardio one?” Steve asks quietly beside her, and Natasha ducks her head slightly to look at him before looking back at Sharon, and she smiles widely at the both of them—as if  _ very _ happy with working with “the two most important people in her life”—before she eventually nods at both of them and clears her throat.

“Doctor Simmons, will you please brief them of the patient, please?” Sharon asks, stepping aside and looking over at Jemma who looks at her as she smiles and nods.

“The patient is female, Gabrielle Byers, three years old,” Jemma starts, and Natasha’s eyes flicker over to the resident as she crosses her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes slightly as she listens intently at the resident. “She is a patient who suffers HLHS—hypoplastic left heart syndrome. And I think it’s...worth mentioning also that we have found  _ this _ critical piece of information out just recently.”

Natasha frowns slightly, and Steve furrows his eyebrows in confusion, crossing his arms over his chest as he shakes his head lightly. “How recently?” Steve asks, narrowing his eyes. “You mean...you didn’t know she was in for HLHS when she was first admitted? She’s three years old.” he points out, and Jemma nods.

“The mother of the girl did  _ not _ know about it, Doctor, not until we found it out for ourselves when she was brought in yesterday for a supposed asthma treatment, but when we noticed her bluish hands and feet, we knew it was something else. So we performed x-rays, ECGs, echocardiograms, all of which point to HLHS.” Jemma replies politely, her eyes looking over at both Steve and Natasha.

“HLHS is a rare congenital heart disease that has  _ obvious _ and terrifying manifestations since birth,” Natasha points out, raising an eyebrow. She has the right to speak up, right? She spent years training under cardio, after all. “She must’ve had it since she was born, like you said, and she never got treatment...since then? And not until recently when she was admitted?” she asks, and Steve nods in agreement, looking at both Jemma and Sharon expectantly. Sharon looks at her resident who sighs and shakes her head.

“Her mother, apparently, attributed it wrongly to asthma, as it was what the doctor in their small clinic told her way before. She said Gabrielle had initially been weak and frail as a baby, had rapid and shallow breathing, shortness of breath—all of which she attributed to—for the weakness and frailness of the kid—genetics, and as for the shallow breathing and shortness of breath—asthma,” Jemma answers softly, handing over to Steve the patient’s charts, where he takes and looks at it, and Natasha peers over, scanning over the vital statistics of the child, as Jemma proceeds, “The mother...she’s a single mother, and she said she just recently them moved to New York when a new doctor in their small nearby clinic advised them to.”

“Where did they move from?” Natasha asks, looking up from the records to meet Jemma’s eyes.

“Beachwood, New Jersey,” she responds, and both Steve and Natasha nod, both their attentions back to the resident. “The child’s local doctor previously attributed the symptoms to asthma. Or, at least that’s what the mother thinks, because I’ve read the child’s medical history, and her list of medicines. She’d received IV medicine in the past to strengthen the heart and lungs, and there was also a history of being put on a ventilator to help with the— _ quote, and end quote _ —asthma.”

“What kind of medicine?” Steve asks, and Jemma extends her hand out to get the chart, which Steve gives to the resident, and she flips a few pages in the patient’s chart.

“When she was an infant, there were instances when she was infused with prostaglandin, some diuretics and inotropes,” she answers, and Steve frowns at that as Natasha looks up at him questioningly, before looking back at the resident. “Some Aldactone and Lasix—furosemide, and digoxin.”

“For  _ three _ years on a kid?” Natasha asks, shaking her head. “Those are medicine for patients  _ before _ undergoing a medical procedure, but she’s been getting those for  _ three _ years?” She looks back up at Steve who sighs and purses his lips, giving Natasha a withered look as Natasha frowns slightly.

“What’s the course of treatment on the kid—Gabrielle?” Steve asks, his eyes flickering over at both Jemma and Sharon.

“The original and initial course of treatment is to proceed with a cardiac catheterization procedure, but when we found out the  _ real _ extent of Gabrielle’s CHD, Doctor Carter decided that we should proceed with the usual series of procedures for HLHS patients. Only we’d have to make a few adjustments on her overall procedure since we also did some MRI scans on the patient.” Jemma says, and Sharon nods, looking over at Natasha.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, Doctor Romanoff, but if the HLHS  _ has _ been untreated for a long time in a child, it couldn’t only have drastic effects on her heart but also on her brain,” she says, and Natasha nods. “Oxygen flow, blood flow, especially with the number of times the baby could have experienced hypoxia over the course of three years, it  _ will _ affect the brain.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Natasha says, nodding. “Do you have the scans?” Sharon nods.

“We had them checked out by our radiologists too,” she says, retrieving the brown envelope on the counter and handing it over to Natasha. Natasha pulls the scans out of the envelope and turns so she is facing towards the light on the ceiling, lifting the scans against it. “There are...lesions, focal AIS, WMI, cerebellar or intraventricular hemorrhage. But we’d like your final word and confirmation on them.”

Natasha nods, narrowing her eyes to look at the scans more intently, as Steve, Sharon and Jemma wait and watch her patiently as she looks at it. “Please note everything down, Doctor Simmons.” she instructs, just as Jemma pulls out her notepad and pen. Steve looks from Jemma then back to Natasha as he crosses his arms over his chest, watching as Natasha narrows her eyes slightly in inspection and concentration as her eyes fix on the scans she is holding up.

“AIS in the left middle cerebral artery territory,  _ no _ cases of sinus venous thrombosis,” she starts enumerating, as Jemma begins to scribble in her notepad. “There’s an asymmetrical transverse sinus flow  _ with _ reduced left-sided flow...and although it’s a common anatomical variant, better note of it still just to be sure.” Jemma nods, looking back up at Natasha expectantly, as Natasha proceeds. “Intraventricular hemorrhage,  _ yes, _ but  _ no _ cerebellar hemorrhage, only a cerebellar vermis rotation…” One of her eyebrows raise, as she sighs and shakes her head. “And the worst of it, extradural hematoma.”

She puts the scans down, and pauses, then looks back at her colleagues. She shakes her head and sighs. “The mother should’ve brought her in earlier,” she says quietly, putting the scans back in the brown envelope. “There’s...a lot of injuries incurred from the heart disease, apart from the heart too, some of which are quite serious ones.”

“So what’s the course of action?” Sharon asks, looking at both Natasha and Steve, as the two look at each other, and Natasha sighs, looking back at Sharon and Jemma.

“I think it’s safer to decide if Doctor Rogers also has the x-rays, ECGs and echocardiogram,” Natasha says, because she knows it’s what  _ he _ will do as a doctor, and a force of habit that’s hard to break, really—since she  _ did _ work with him and under his wing for a long time too. Sharon’s head whips over to Natasha, her eyes flickering over at who Steve nods, looking back at Jemma who retrieves another envelope from the counter and hands it over to Steve, and Natasha’s eyes flicker back to Sharon. “When’s Gabrielle’s supposed surgery?”

She blinks and pauses for a moment. “It’s supposed to be within the day, but the scans came in and...and all the other complications came in, so I think the schedule would have to wait until we get a final strategy.” Sharon answers. Natasha hums and Steve nods as he pulls out the scans and Natasha looks at it too, taking a small step closer beside Steve who subconsciously steps aside, orienting his body a little facing her direction, as if to make room for Natasha as he lifts the scans against the light, and they look at the scans together.

It’s almost naturally subconscious, akin to a routine, like they’ve done it a million times over, like it’s something they’ve  _ always _ done, and they will  _ always _ do. It’s almost like...like their  _ thing, _ something done so closely, intimately and naturally—something, of course, that does not escape Sharon’s keen eyes as she frowns slightly as she watches the interaction unfold in front of her. She feels a faint pang in her heart, a faint yet very  _ familiar _ clench inside her chest and a tight sick feeling at the bottom of her stomach—the almost eristical and illogical feeling of possessiveness, of jealousy she feels whenever with Steve, every single  _ damn _ time Steve would be around  _ anyone _ else.

And as she continues to watch, she allows herself to think how similar she and Steve were with how Natasha and Steve looks at  _ this _ moment—how Steve would naturally step aside to allow room for her to view the scans with him. But there’s something  _ different, _ something in the atmosphere between them that is released to the rest of the room, something that tells Sharon she is invading something she shouldn’t.

But then again, it’s how she feels with  _ any _ other woman Steve interacts with, so she brushes it off, albeit hesitant to do so.

Steve looks down at Natasha who is looking intently at the scans, her eyes narrowed in concentration as she hugs the brain scan envelope tightly against her chest. “What do you see?” he asks quietly, the usual question he’d always ask her when he was still her mentor, and she was still his resident under his wing. He would usually ask her of the orientation of the scans, like how cardiac attendings would ask their interns and residents to better practise them, but Steve thinks against it, especially when he recalls her just easily and casually pointing out all the preoperative brain injuries on the three-year-old’s scans.

A testament to what he already knew about her—that she’s good, always  _ has _ been destined for good.

“Axial arterial phase,” she answers teasingly, nonetheless, letting out a small smirk as Steve lets out a quiet chuckle, and Natasha briefly looks at him before clearing her throat and looking back at the scans. “The usual features of HLHS: underdeveloped left ventricle, mitral valve stenosis, aortic valve atresia and hypoplastic ascending aorta.” She points out each of the abnormality quietly, and with ease, and Steve smiles.

“Always perfect.” Steve mumbles, enough for only Natasha to hears as she breathes out a quiet laugh, ducking her head to hide the warm blush— _ blush!  _ She’s  _ blushing, _ and it’s nuts!—forming on her cheeks, as she steps away from him, and Steve briefly looks at her with a smile before turning his attention back on the scans, both of them failing to notice Sharon’s small smile completely fade as she sucks in a deep breath, tucking her hands back inside the pockets of her coat as she clenches her fists tightly inside it.

There it is.  _ There it is again, _ she thinks, closing her eyes for a moment as she ducks her head, letting some of her blonde wavy hair fall over her shoulder to cover her face.  _ There it is, and this time it’s real. _ She takes a deep breath, and lifts her head again as she opens her eyes, biting her bottom lip as her eyes focus on the two in front of her, her eyes flickering mostly to the tall, blonde man looking over at the chest scans of her patient.

He’s different. His impact and importance in  _ her _ life is different than how the others were important in her life—and it’s an importance she holds with a definitely high regard. She first met him when he had moved to Seattle three years ago, when she had just been fresh into her fellowship for pediatric surgery. They performed in a surgery together, it’s how they first met, but it had been a long surgery, and the moment they were out of the O.R., after he had smiled at her and told her how wonderful she was during the surgery…

She didn’t know, honestly, if it was the surgery high, or if it was just  _ fate, _ as she’d like to believe so, but they hit it off right away.

And she had fallen in love with him, almost immediately, almost too  _ instantly _ as they had it off at the beginning, from  _ that _ day on. She had fallen in love with him because he’s...he’s  _ different. _ He’s caring, appreciative, and he sees something in her that’s so highly regarded and so positively different and flattering than the rest that makes her heart flutter and makes her blush warmly, and he’s just spectacular, both in the hospital and...well,  _ other _ things. She didn’t know much about him from the beginning,  _ never _ knew his life before moving to Seattle as she had been  _ so _ fixated on the prospective romance that could brew between them if she would only try harder, if she would only  _ be _ better and if he would only notice  _ her _ more. She would take all of his compliments into heart, and would cherish every evening they would spend together, even if it would just be a round of sex without anything else, but she assumed that this kind of intimacy was how he would want them to start off with, and she accepted it. She accepted it without asking, accepted  _ him _ without hesitating.

She had asked him once about it, about the state of their relationship, and opening the idea of moving it forward. She had done so indirectly, because she was  _ never _ a forward person, as she can  _ never _ accept a forward answer, and she was afraid that in  _ this _ particular circumstance with Steve, she would be on the other end of a forward answer she might be unwilling to hear, and would only hurt her, so she didn’t risk it. She couldn’t afford to hear a forward answer, so she just went for an indirect, non-forward approach. So one night after they were sated and satisfied, when they were lying down naked, catching their breaths on her bed in her apartment, she had opened it to him as much as she could—starting with whether or not he was looking for something serious, what his agenda was in moving to Seattle, an overdue question she should have asked five months prior, when he had moved, and when they started sleeping together.

_ “Just starting over,” he had told her, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. “It’s complicated, but...I just needed a do-over, smooth down things that had been messy, redo things I’ve messed up but on a cleaner slate. On a much, much cleaner slate.” _

_ “Starting over from what?” she asked, and he tensed, and for a second, she was afraid she had hit a nerve, that she had ticked something inside his mind triggering him to think of unpleasant things he might not have wanted to think of, but since she had brought it up, he was then forced to. “I’m...I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pried, I—” _

_ “No, it’s...it’s fine,” Steve said, shaking his head as he frowned slightly, his eyebrows furrowing as he looked at her. “Why’d you ask?” _

_ Sharon blinked, her heart beating fast against her chest, her hands sweating and cold as she felt a rush of nervousness, of anxiety inside of her. She turned slightly, orienting her naked body to face him, propping her elbow up to support her head. She shook her head and sighed. “I just...I just wanna know, you know, ‘cause I feel like I should,” she said softly. “And...and I thought we should...get to know each other more beyond the sex, if...if it’s...if it’s something you really like.” _

_ Steve blinked, pausing for a moment, that Sharon felt dread washing over her, afraid that the next words would be something she wouldn’t want to hear, not from him, not to break her heart, to break her hope and romance and fantasy, and— _

_ “I don’t think I’m...I’m ready for that kind of thing yet, Sharon,” Steve said quietly, getting up and facing her as he shook her head. He went to retrieve his clothes, as Sharon’s eyes widened, snatching the covers to cover her body as she sat up and watched him get dressed. “I’m sorry, it’s...I think there’s sort of a misunderstanding, I...I thought it was clear from the start—” _

_ “What’s clear?” she asked, her heart thumping inside her chest, as he paused to look at her. _

_ “That this is just casual,” he answered quietly. “That there’s...there’s nothing between us, that there won’t be something between us. We told each other that on the first night.” _

_ Which was true, but that had been the first night, when there had been nothing between them but a sense of high, a need and a connection that led them to bed together later that night, that eventually led them to a series of other nights, where either one of them (mostly him) would just give each other a certain look, one that the other would understand, until they’re either in the elevator making out, or in one of the sleeping rooms just releasing some steam, if not in the comforts of her own apartment. _

_ “I-If this is making you uncomfortable, this...arrangement is making you uncomfortable, w-we could stop. We can stop immediately, of course, and—” _

_ “No,” she answered immediately, feeling her heart stop for a beat as her head became lighter, as if she was spinning and she was dizzy. No, because she didn’t want to stop seeing him, to stop being with him. She didn’t want this...arrangement or whatever to stop. “No, I don’t...I don’t want it to stop.” _

_ “But I can’t make this move forward,” he told her softly, shaking her head. “I can’t, Sharon, I...you have to know I can’t give you what...what you might want from me.” _

_ Yet. He can’t give it to her yet, and she’s holding on to it. “Okay.” she responded as she nodded, feeling a weight lift off of her chest as she sighed in almost relief. She can wait. She can give him time. They can have all the time in the world, if it were up to her. _

She had never known why he hadn’t been “ready”, all because she was afraid to ask, because she’s afraid that whatever his answer may be, it would hurt her and destroy her, and it’s the last thing she wants to feel. The initial question had been a risk, as if she had subjected herself to be put on the edge of a cliff, ready to be pushed, but she was saved, and for that she was relieved. She could speculate, attribute his unreadiness to something from his unknown past prior Seattle, some unresolved issues and ghosts of the past he was fighting, and something she was also willing to fight alongside him. And over time, she supposed, the longer he stayed, and the longer they became involved with each other, he had started to loosen up a little, open up bits about his past in New York and the past hospital he worked in. She started to hear more about him, more  _ from _ him, as they started to spend more of their breaks together, and started to spend more evenings after shifts on dinners with them across each other before they would spend the night over at her apartment.

She had  _ finally _ thought that he was  _ ready, _ and she was right there with him.

The people in Mercy West had noticed it too, as speculations and rumors started circulating about her and Steve, with her friends consistently telling her how they looked  _ good _ together, how they gushed about the way he looked and the way he spoke to her and the way they worked together—how their chemistry had always been  _ so _ good, good enough to be ignored by others, good enough to be considered  _ together. _ And with every rumor she heard, with every gush and every story reaching her, she would believe them. She would believe them, the romance stirred in these stories, confirm them, confirm  _ him _ as her romantic partner—an important person in her life, etch the image of  _ them _ in her head and bring it to him every time they would come together at night.

But even as she believed, she had never asked, mostly because she had learned to  _ not _ ask, if it were to save herself from the dreadful feeling of having to wait for his response, and having to think that his response would be nothing she would like to hear, nothing that would be pleasant in both her heart and mind. She had asked the others to keep their gushes lowkey, not until she says otherwise when he finally tells her outright that he is ready, not wanting to pressure him or force him into something so fast. Because even if she was a defier of the odds, she was still a traditional woman, a patient woman who would wait for him to tell her,  _ officially _ tell her he was ready, but even then, she felt it. She felt the readiness stirring in him, and she would wait, and it was okay.

But  _ even _ then, there were voices at the back of her head, an uncertainty looming between them that she had been trying  _ so _ hard to avoid and ignore—one that had eventually turned into insecurity and easy jealousy, especially when she would spot Steve with another woman doctor, nurse or patient, afraid that he would find  _ them _ more appealing than her, that he would tell  _ them _ he was ready for them, but not with her. And she didn’t want that. In all senses, she  _ didn’t _ want that to happen, yet she felt so powerless to say or ask him about anything in the matter at all. But at the end of it, she would be assured anyway, because at the end of the day—at nights—he would go back to her, and she would go back to him, and everything will be alright. The feeling would go away, and she would once again be assured.

But she has a  _ looming _ feeling that in  _ this _ particular situation, with  _ this _ particular woman, the looming uncertainty will not fade, as it might only heighten, especially as how they looked.

“Doctor Simmons, please note additional features to the scans,” he says, and Jemma nods, looking back at her notepad. Sharon snaps away from her thoughts, and looks at her resident beside her, as Steve continues to speak. “There is compensatory dilatation of the right cardiac chambers with possible signs of endocardial fibroelastosis, also an atrial septal defect and patent ductus arteriosus are seen. Now as for the ECGs,” Steve takes out the ECG scan from the envelope and looks at it. “Ventricular septal defect, atrial fibrillation. Doctor Simmons, can you tell me how you can tell an atrial fibrillation is manifested in an ECG?”

Both Sharon and Natasha look over at Jemma who nods, lifting her head to look at Steve. “The mapping during the atrial fibrillation revealed continuous electrical activity recorded by the catheter from the middle of the right atrial-free wall,” she answers. “Whereas diastolic intervals are present between the bipolar potentials recorded from the remainder of the atria.”

Steve nods. “Good. All of these should be important especially in the course of treatment,” he says, as he looks back at Sharon. “If you have  _ any _ as of now.”

Sharon clears her throat slightly, shifting her weight between her two feet before finally straightening herself. “The original, as Doctor Simmons have said, is to proceed with a cardiac catheterization procedure. But since there are  _ plenty _ of complications arising, I’d like to know your opinion on the course of treatment as you’d both be involved in this surgery,” she tells them. “Amanda—Mandy Byers—Gabrielle’s mother, she’s waiting. She initially hoped the surgery would happen within the day, but given the circumstances, we couldn’t do that. We need to come up with a plan we’ll present to her now, as she’d appreciate at least an update on her daughter’s treatment procedure.”

Natasha sighs, her eyes flickering between the two accompanying attendings. “This honestly needs to be discussed in more detail, with more time, and I prefer a more meticulous discussion than this rushed one we have,” she says quietly, and both Sharon and Steve nod in agreement. “But we don’t have the luxury of time.”  _ Little Gabrielle doesn’t have time. _

“Then we decide now, whatever it is we already know, making use of what we already have,” Steve says, and he looks over at Natasha, and raises an eyebrow. “Nat?”

The casual throw of a nickname slips too quickly, almost too naturally, that only Sharon and Jemma notice it. Sharon purses her lips tightly, her breath caught in her throat as her jaw clenches, while Jemma’s eyes widen ever so slightly. Natasha, however, remains impassive, as if not noticing—or  _ actually _ not noticing at all, because that’s how naturally it came out—as she thinks carefully. She doesn’t notice, of course she doesn’t, not when it feels good to hear it again, not when it  _ hears _ like home and feels like home to be called as such.

And Sharon does her best to  _ not _ focus on that.

“You already know my answer to that,” Natasha tells him, raising an eyebrow. “I know this is a CHD, a primary cardiac case, but the HLHS already caused damage to the brain that could be irreversible should it be left untreated. The scans show the same things too, so that, for me, is more urgent, the first thing we should fix and operate on.”

Steve’s eyes flicker back to Sharon’s as she looks back at him. “Doctor Carter?” he prompts, and Sharon feels her heart sinking all-so suddenly at the way he calls her, in contrast with how she calls Natasha. “Guess you’ll decide, since we all know what my answer to that will be too.” He shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Again, no biases aside, and if we have time, there will be explanations involved.” He looks over at Natasha who nods at him in agreement.

Everyone then looks at Sharon expectedly, and she takes this moment to think, to weigh the options and come up with a decision that would affect a child’s life. She licks her bottom lip as she sighs. “I’m with...I’m with Doctor Romanoff in this. I think it’s better to treat the lesions, stop the hemorrhages and hematomas before it gets worse and before it can cause more irreversible damage,” she says, and Natasha nods in agreement, as Steve purses his lips together, but nods nonetheless. “Do you have a course of treatment for the HLHS itself?”

“The usual standard series of procedures—so the Norwood procedure would be the first step,” Steve answers, nodding. “After neuro, we’ll proceed immediately with opening her chest if she’s still strong enough within the surgery. I might need to modify the shunt I’ll be putting in, though, so to create a right ventricle-to-pulmonary artery conduit, rather than just the usual shunt placed in HLHS surgeries.”

Natasha’s eyebrows furrow slightly for a moment, but her eyes then widen, as she looks up at Steve, as if in awe and wonder. “To reduce the diastolic blood flow into the coronary arteries, coronary  _ steal,” _ Natasha continues softly, smiling slowly in realization as Steve nods, the corner of his mouth quirking upward as he looks at Natasha. “It’ll be more catered for HLHS rather than TOF, it’s...it’s a brilliant plan.” Steve nods again, smiling widely as Natasha lets out a small chuckle, her eyes sparkling in pure and sheer admiration.

“You can still remember, I’m impressed.” Steve says softly, and Natasha smiles widely and nods with a hum, as Steve feels his heart flutter in his chest at the sight, making him smile widely at how beautiful she looks when she smiles—and  _ he _ made  _ her _ smile like that, no matter how small the comment had been!

“Wow, you really know a lot about cardiac surgery too.” Sharon comments quietly, her eyes flickering between Natasha and Steve as she crosses her arms over her chest, shifting her weight between her two feet as she starts feeling that  _ familiar _ heaviness in her chest and that stirring, burning heat that’s starting to coil at the bottom of her stomach.  _ Jealousy, uncertainty, _ one that wouldn’t go away, would  _ never _ go away, especially as she observes how he looks at her—how Steve looks at Natasha with admiration, awe and...and something else she couldn’t point out nor describe, something so unfamiliar to her, one that he never used to look at  _ her, _ nor any of the other woman doctors, nurses and patients he would encounter even back then at Seattle.

She forces the feeling down, pushes it down as she takes a deep breath, forcing a small smile to form on her lips.

Natasha looks back at her and shakes her head, letting out a soft chuckle. “I trained under cardio too when I was a resident,” she explains, and her smile turns tight and smaller. “I ended up choosing neuro, but it’s hard to forget...about all that is cardio.” She lets out a small chuckle and shakes her head. “Sorry, it’s...it just takes me back, that’s all. It takes me back to before.” She smiles and nods at Sharon, who nods slowly, her eyes flickering over to Steve who is now smiling widely at Natasha.

It hurts, and it’s draining every ounce of life in her—this  _ feeling, _ but she continues to fight it. Fight it, because he would come back to her, and she would come back to him.

_ “Wow, _ that’s...impressive. You’ve always  _ been _ the brightest one in class,” Sharon says with a small chuckle, and Natasha smiles widely at that. “Well, we really do need to catch up on a lot of things soon.” She chuckles, as she faces Jemma, and she clears her throat. “But for now, why don’t, uh,  _ we _ proceed to Gabrielle Byers’ room, introduce ourselves and explain the course of treatment?”

“Sounds great.” Steve says, his eyes not leaving Natasha as she looks up at him, giving him a small smile, before the woman turns back to Sharon, giving her a small nod.

Sharon sighs and nods, pursing her lips as she takes a deep breath, turning a corner to a hallway of the pediatric patients’ rooms. She looks up at the door, and looks over at Jemma who nods and stops in her tracks in front of the door, while Sharon stops on the side, her hand resting on the knob before she turns to look at both Steve and Natasha who are looking at her as she nods.

“You ready?” she asks, and the three of them nod, as Sharon turns the knob and pushes the door open.

The room is small, standardly small for a pediatric patient’s room, but it’s bright and beautifully decorated to accommodate little kids indeed. Natasha  _ knows _ what these rooms look like, of course, because not only has she worked here at some point during her residency, but she’d stayed here when Sarah had been sick and confined in this wing. This room is slightly different than the one Sarah had stayed in, though—it’s painted yellow and bright, the cushions of the seat by the window orange and lined with different stuffed animals and bears. The walls are lined with small drawings of clouds, a smiling sun and rainbows—comforting and entertaining enough for a kid to smile at, she supposes. The bedsheets are orange too, on top of it multi-colored pillows and stuffed toys.

And for years as a practicing doctor, Natasha was always taught to see patients as people—something Steve had taught her, and one of the few things she holds on to as part of her virtues as a doctor. She was always taught to empathize, to see beyond the bodies, the organs they were poking around, the scans showing tumors and cancer marks, and instead look into the stories of these people holding them, owning them and living through and with them. She was always trained to see them as  _ real _ humans, real people who have families, who are a “somebody” to someone else she doesn’t know nor see. It helps in empathy, helps in the motivation to do good, succeed and understand when necessary.

For years she was always trained to see the patients as outside of who she is. But at some point, it becomes too much, she supposes, once the moment comes that she sees the patient as  _ herself. _ The empathy gets overwhelming, the senses too heightened sometimes she wonders if it’s even part of her job—what she’s trying to do.

She hits that limit when her eyes land on a small blonde girl—whom she assumes to be little Gabrielle Byers, who cuddles further in her mother’s side, seated beside her daughter on the bed, as she wraps an arm protectively around her little girl, and who smiles when the four doctors come in. The little girl’s eyes are wide and blue as she peers from her mother’s side curiously at her, Steve, Jemma and Sharon, while the mother—Natasha recalls her name to be Mandy Byers—rubs her hand soothingly on the girl’s back, leaning down to press a soft kiss on top of her blonde hair.

She remembers Sarah, and she feels a familiar ache in her chest when she starts remembering their days in this  _ very _ floor, almost in the  _ very _ same situation the Byers are in. It makes her feel slightly sick, dizzy, as if the room is starting to spin but she ducks her head and closes her eyes momentarily to regain her footing and consciousness, before opening her eyes, facing the two Byers girls as she lifts her head and takes a deep breath.

Natasha narrowly misses the roll of introductions made by Sharon, but she makes sure to smile, most especially when Mandy’s eyes land on Natasha—assuming Sharon had referred to  _ her _ in the introductory roll, as she gives the mother a nod of acknowledgment. But she eventually catches on with Sharon’s explanations. “There will be necessary preparations needed to be done before we can start the procedures, as the shunts we will be putting in your daughter’s hearts will be modified by Doctor Rogers right here, so it will be able to cater to the needs of Gabrielle’s heart,” Sharon explains to Mandy, who nods while she listens intently to the doctors’ course of action on her daughter. “So I’m afraid we might have to postpone the surgery until tomorrow, instead of the original plan which is supposedly today.”

“But even then, we will be monitoring her consistently, and we will still continue to give her some IV medicines which will help strengthen her heart and lungs,” Steve continues gently, and he smiles assuringly and disarmingly at them. “She’ll need a lot of strength for the surgery.”

Natasha can see the worry, the hurt, guilt and pain mixing together in the mother’s eyes, even as she attempts to hide it with a smile as she pulls her daughter closer to her chest. It’s easy—seeing and reading these kinds of emotions, especially as she had experienced so herself, apart from having to witness it everyday as her form of living. The little girl looks up at her mother, a beautiful brunette woman with blue eyes and around the same age as Natasha, and smiles, and as she does so, Natasha can see the worry somehow subside momentarily from Mandy’s eyes, replaced with relief and  _ love, _ as she smiles back at her daughter. But as she looks back at them, at the doctors who will, in two days, be the ones poking inside her daughter’s brain and chest, the worry lines come back in almost like a huge wave, but in small minute forms—the small quirk of eyebrow, the slight downward quirk of the corners of her mouth—those which Natasha notice, but even then, she still attempts to push it away with a calm smile.

But she can’t fool Natasha. Not when she’s been there, not when she  _ understands, _ and not when she can see who she had been a year ago to this mother right here in front of her. It reminds her, yet again, why she shifted out of pediatric neurosurgery. It’s not really as much as the kid rather than the mother—the parents. She sees herself too much in them it pains her, finding it difficult to do her job properly when all her mind is clouded with emotions. What more when in front of her is a single mother who just wanted what was best for her sick little girl? Wasn’t she, once upon a time, also a single mother who just wanted to make her sick little girl better? Wasn’t she as worried, as guilt-struck, hurt and pained as Mandy is now? Wasn’t her daughter just as frail, sickly, pale and lethargic, in contrast to her usual fun and upbeat self now, just as Gabrielle,  _ her _ patient, is now?

“Okay...so the surgery—surgeries, sorry—will be tomorrow,” Mandy says, nodding, and her eyes flicker back to Natasha. “H-how about her head? You said you have to operate on her head, her brain? When will that be?” Natasha swallows down her throat and she nods.

“It’ll happen before we open her chest and proceed with fixing the HLHS,” she explains gently. “We saw the scans, and normally, since Gabrielle’s suffering from a heart disease primarily, we’d put that before operating on her brain, but for this, we feel like it’s safer to put the brain surgery first before the heart, so as to prevent further complications that  _ could _ be irreversible and more damaging to the girl.”

Gabrielle looks up at her mother and pouts, just as Mandy brushes her blonde hair gently from her face. The toddler then looks up at Natasha with wide eyes and asks softly, “Doctor, is it gonna hurt when I get there?”

“No. No, it won’t,” Natasha answers softly, smiling. Gabrielle perks up and tilts her head, turning in her mother’s arms to orient her body towards Natasha, as if interested—intrigued, almost, at the doctor’s response, when she was probably expecting otherwise—and Natasha hesitates for a moment before she walks over to perch herself by the edge of the bed, her hands folding on her lap as she gives the toddler a little smile. “No, because you will have this special medicine that will help your body  _ not _ feel anything during the whole thing. It’s gonna make you fall asleep.”

Little Gabrielle blinks almost confusedly, it’s awfully endearing— _ much _ like her little Sarah. “Like Sleeping Beauty?” she asks, and Natasha laughs softly and nods.

“Yes, much like Sleeping Beauty, and when you wake up, you’ll find your one true love there waiting for you—your Mommy,” she says, her eyes flickering back to Mandy who chuckles softly, nodding as she looks down at Gabrielle who is now grinning widely up at her. “And she’ll be here ready for more snuggles with you.”

Natasha taps the tip of Gabrielle’s nose as the toddler giggles, and her own heart flutters as she imagines her own little Sarah’s giggles that are as melodious and beautiful as this child’s.  _ God, _ she misses her little girl—and she’d only last seen her a few hours ago.

“But you’re going to fix me, right? Because something’s wrong with my heart as Mama said, and now something is wrong with my head too,” she says softly, her smile fading as she looks back at Natasha, her eyes growing wide at the doctor as she pouts. “And I need to be fixed...so I can go back home, and so Mama can go back home too, and so I can go back to preschool with my friends, and Mama can go back home to see her friends and go to work.” The toddler frowns slightly, looking down at her hands. “She doesn’t see her friends anymore because of me.”

“Hey, baby no, it’s okay,” Mandy says softly, pressing a kiss on top of Gabrielle’s head as she rests her cheek on top of the girl’s head. “It’s okay. I’d rather be with you. I  _ want _ to be with you.”

She sees the longingness of home, the difficulty of being stuck in here instead of at home where she should be with her mother and friends. She sees how much this toddler is trying to be strong, how she’s keeping herself hopeful that she will come home very soon alive and strong and ready to play with her friends in pre-K. She also sees something else though—guilt. Guilt that she’s familiar with because her mother had it, but it’s also guilt that is passed on to the little girl because she was apparently  _ old _ enough to feel it, but not  _ exactly _ old enough to deserve to feel it, as if she’s feeling it’s her fault for bearing the sickness, that it’s her fault they’re stuck in here, in a foreign state in an expensive hospital, instead of their humble abode quite far away from here. Natasha sighs and opens her palm upward on her lap, and when the toddler looks down at it, she lays her small cold hand on Natasha’s open palm, as Natasha holds it, giving it a light and gentle squeeze, as her thumb gently brushes on the back of the girl’s small hand.

“This surgery, where we fix the broken parts of your body,” Natasha starts softly. “I can promise you, Gabrielle, we’re going to  _ do _ our best to fix it. Me, Doctor Rogers and Doctor Carter right here, we’re going to do the best we can to fix it so you can go home, and so you can play with your friends again, alright?” The toddler looks over at the two other doctors who nod, and Natasha smiles when the toddler nods too. “And Gabrielle, doesn’t mean you’re in the hospital, doesn’t mean you did something wrong. This is not  _ your _ or your Mama’s fault, okay?” Natasha assures softly, simply because she needs to, and simply because back then, it’s always what made  _ her _ sane. It’s always what kept her grounded.

_ This is not your fault, and it will never be your fault. _

“Then whose fault is it?” she asks in a small voice, and Natasha sighs as she shakes her head.

“Sometimes when things go the way we don’t want it to, it doesn’t always mean somebody did something wrong,” she answers softly. “Some things happen so they can make us stronger, you know? Like this one.”

“Will this make me stronger?” she asks softly, and she perks up a bit, smiling widely. “Stronger like a superhero?”

Natasha hums and smiles widely. “Oh yes, definitely. You’ll be Mama’s superhero right here.” she says, brushing away the blonde hair off of her face as the toddler squeals and giggles, snuggling closer to her mother who laughs softly, pressing a kiss on her head as she looks back at Natasha who chuckles softly.

“Thank you, Doctor.” Mandy says softly, giving her a grateful smile, and Natasha can feel the sincerity in both her words and her smile. Natasha smiles and nods, getting up from the bed and smoothing her white coat. She looks back at Sharon and nods, and the pediatrics attending smiles and nods at her.

“If you have any other questions, please don’t hesitate to ask the three of us.” Sharon says, giving Mandy and Gabrielle a smile. Sharon gives the two doctors a nod before turning towards the door of the room, as Steve and Natasha follow suit behind her, while Jemma stays in to replace the little girl’s IV.

“Doctors?”

Sharon, Steve and Natasha all turn, pausing in their tracks when they see Mandy walking over to them. Steve looks over at Natasha who just looks expectantly at Mandy. Her hands are tucked in the pockets of her coat as she purses her lips, giving a small smile as Mandy stops in front of them, her eyes wide and glassy as it flickers at the three doctors, who look at her questioningly yet gently.

“Can we help you?” Sharon asks gently, and Mandy’s eyes flicker to hers. She swallows down her throat, clasping her hands together and taking a deep and shaky breath as she purses her lips, her eyes filling with tears as she looks up at Sharon.

“It’s my fault,” she confesses quietly, her voice breaking at the end that she has to swallow down her throat again in an attempt to clear and stabilize her voice. “Why Gabby’s in here. It’s  _ my _ fault. It’s...it’s not Gabby’s, it’s not...not the universe’s. It’s mine.”

Natasha swallows down her throat and looks down at her feet. She remembered telling herself that plenty of times last year—because, probably following the same logical thinking as  _ this _ woman, whose fault would it be? Her baby was also born with a congenital heart disease, and she knows that while these diseases don’t have a direct and  _ known _ cause, these diseases develop when the baby is in utero. What did she do, or what  _ didn’t _ she do, that her baby had suffered the consequences? What had she supposedly done so her baby didn’t need to suffer  _ that _ much that she couldn’t breathe, that she’d always cry in pain…

That she was the brunt of another mistake Natasha made when she decided on a wrong course of treatment?

“Mandy…” Sharon trails off quietly, shaking her head as she looks at Steve and Natasha, the redheaded woman sighing and looking back at Sharon before looking back at Mandy.

“If...if you don’t mind us asking, Mandy...what took you so long to bring Gabby to a hospital to have her checked?” Natasha asks softly, and Mandy’s eyes flicker back at her, blinking a couple of times before she looks back down at her feet. “I-I mean...the symptoms for HLHS, they’re...they’re hard to miss, and it’s  _ severely _ different from asthma, much worse, like—”

“Bluish and cold hands and feet,” Mandy supplies quietly, nodding, as Natasha nods. “Shortness of breath, difficulty breathing,  _ long _ nights of begging for air to breathe, I…” She takes a shaky breath as she shakes her head. Natasha feels her heart constrict as she nods, looking down as well and closing her eyes for a moment before she lifts her head to look up at her patient’s mother. “I know it’s...it  _ might _ sound pathetic because you’re doctors, and you know... _ you _ know how these things manifest, but I didn’t. I didn’t, I  _ swear, _ and I know it sounds like I’m making excuses for what happened to my daughter, but—”

“Hey,” Steve says softly, shaking his head as he rests a hand on Mandy’s arm assuredly, just when a tear slips off from her eyes. She looks up at Steve with wide and glassy eyes, just as another tear fell, and she quickly wipes it off with the back of her hand, sniffling. Steve sighs and blinks a few times, looking away momentarily as he looks back at Mandy. “What matters now is you brought Gabby here and she’ll be treated starting tomorrow, and it’s not too late. We can  _ fix _ her, alright? We’ll do our best, we promise. It’s not too late for your daughter.”

Mandy swallows down her throat as she lets out a small nod, before looking back down at her feet to take a shaky breath, closing her eyes as she wipes her cheeks with her hands. Natasha can  _ feel _ the guilt, can practically feel it exuding from this woman, and she understands. She really  _ does, _ and she understands that no matter what the three of them will say, she won’t believe it. She  _ knows, _ because she used to feel it too— _ can _ still feel it too at times. The guilt used to consume her, and sometimes, when Natasha would lie awake at night just watching her daughter sleep peacefully beside her, it still does.  _ Most _ of the time, it comes in waves, whenever she treats kids in the neuro section, and she would see parents get all worked up and worried because, yes, sometimes it’s their fault when their kids are involved in an accident resulting in a brain injury. But most of the time, in unpreventable cases, as what her friends and co-workers had told her when she was in the same position as they were last year, she would tell them the same thing she was told.

“Mandy.” Natasha says softly, just as the woman looks up at her, and Steve does too, retracting his hand back as Natasha takes a step forward closer to her. She shakes her head lightly and swallows down her throat to clear up the constricting feeling in it. She feels the corners of her eyes stinging, tears threatening to fill her eyes, her heart squeezing as all she can ever think of in her mind is Sarah. But she pushes those feelings down, instead focuses her mind on her little girl—her little girl in one of those beds last year, gasping and begging for air, her little girl in  _ pain, _ as she clings to her mother, begging Natasha to take the pain away as she desperately holds her closer to her chest, pressing soft kisses on her head as she forces herself to be strong, murmuring soft and loving words while praying hard in her head to  _ whoever _ was listening to take the pain away from her daughter and let her live.

It  _ hurts  _ thinking about it, thinking about the pain her little girl had gone through, the guilt she had been wallowing in since, but she uses that pain and guilt to face this woman right in front of her, and tell her the things she was told last year that allowed her to keep going, hoping and praying that it would allow  _ her _ to keep going too.

“I know...I know you might not believe this, and I know it may not  _ seem _ like it but...this is  _ not _ your fault, okay?” she asks, pausing as she can feel her voice breaking as her throat constricts. Her eyes don’t leave Mandy’s, as the woman purses her lips, the corners of her mouth turning downward as she holds the doctor’s stare. “I know it’s hard. What you’re going through is  _ hard, _ and believing that it isn’t your fault is hard—believe me I  _ do, _ but you have to believe in that. You have to believe in that, so you can be a little bit stronger...for Gabby, and for yourself. You can hold your little girl’s hand as tightly as you can, pull her closer to your chest, watch her chest rise and fall every time she would breathe, do  _ anything _ ... _ anything _ at all to keep yourself sane, to keep convincing yourself that she is still alive, and she is still here, and  _ that _ is still one thing to be grateful for. There’s still  _ that _ reason to hurt a little less, to eliminate at least a  _ little _ bit of the guilt building in your chest.”

Her own eyes start filling with tears as her voice breaks, but she doesn’t allow the tears to fall. Even as her vision starts to blur, she still holds Mandy’s gaze as the mother’s tears start to fall, letting out a small whimper and a choked sob as she sniffles, wiping away the tears on her cheeks as she looks away and nods. Natasha’s chin quivers, the pain inside her chest building and constricting tighter and  _ tighter, _ but she pushes it down as she tips her head a little higher to prevent herself from falling, from crying and breaking down because this isn’t about her. This is about someone who had been  _ just _ like her.

“This is not your fault,” she continues quietly, and Mandy looks back at her, her bottom lip quivering as silent tears continue to fall. “But it will be if you stop fighting for her, and for yourself. So  _ don’t _ stop.  _ Don’t _ stop fighting, because you’ll see the light at the end,  _ you’ll _ see.” Natasha says, as Mandy takes a shaky breath, closing her eyes for a moment as she nods, and she wipes off the tears on her cheeks with her hands, nodding vigorously as she looks back at Natasha.

“Thank you,” Mandy whispers, pulling Natasha in for an embrace, one that she returns as she holds the woman tightly, her one hand rubbing soothingly and comfortingly on her back as she closes her eyes and sighs. “Thank you.” she whispers again, as Natasha nods, giving her one last tight squeeze before pulling away slightly and giving Mandy a small smile, one that she returns despite her wet cheeks and eyes.

“No problem.” Natasha responds softly. Mandy sighs and nods, as she looks back at Steve and Sharon, who are just watching the both of them, particularly the way Natasha had comforted the woman, the things she said and  _ how _ she said it. Mandy gives them both a smile and a nod as well, one they return too, before the woman turns and walks down the hallway, before she disappears inside her daughter’s room.

Natasha bites her bottom lip and looks down, taking a moment of pause for herself.  _ It hits home, _ she thinks. It hits home, hits her so bad and the  _ worse _ thing about it is that she’s dealing with it with  _ him, _ as if the pain of being reminded of what happened to her and Sarah had not been enough, that Steve’s lingering presence while she deals with it silently is fine to be added to the heavy load she’s already starting to feel. A part of her is tempted  _ so _ badly to drop the case, give it to Banner, or to any other neuro fellow in the hospital who would be detached from the situation and the patient as well as her mother, but a part of her also thinks that she’s  _ the _ one fit for the job—not really entirely because of her skillset and expertise, but also because of the empathy and understanding she can offer the patient and her mother, one that is  _ vital _ in the entirety of the patient’s care. She can’t give it up, not when she thinks she still has a lot of support she can offer to both the Gabby and Mandy, so she won’t. Even if it  _ kills _ her, she won’t.

Steve’s eyes flicker over to her, and Natasha lifts and turns her head slightly to look at him, as she starts feeling the heavy weight in her chest again. She purses her lips together and tucks her hands inside the pockets of her coat as she swallows down her throat and takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders and looking back at her co-doctors, giving them a small smile as she turns back to walk towards the lobby of the elevators, them following not far behind her. She presses the button down, as one elevator door opens, and she enters in, Steve and Sharon following after her, as Sharon presses the button to the surgical floor.

Sharon ducks her head as the elevator door closes, her eyes looking over to the side to see Steve standing beside Natasha, giving her a small smile, one that she returns. She lifts her head and sighs. “We can go over the procedure, how we’ll be going about with the surgery for tomorrow,” she says, turning her head to see the two nod at her. “I just have to check on a patient, but I can meet you maybe in the lounge?”

“I have a patient in an hour,” Natasha says softly, taking her phone out to check the time, locking her phone immediately, at the  _ exact _ time Steve’s eyes automatically flicker over to her phone, as she tucks it back inside her pocket. “But we can still have a quick discussion, maybe. I’ll just tell Wanda to prep her for me.”

“Sounds good.” Sharon says with a small smile as Natasha nods, and the elevator door opens. Sharon walks on ahead, turning on the corner where the patients’ rooms are, as Steve and Natasha follow shortly behind her.

“I’ll just grab something from the nurse’s station.” Steve tells her softly, and she nods.

“Yeah, me too,” she responds almost awkwardly. “Maybe we can just wait for here, so we can start the discussion.”  _ So I don’t have to be alone with you in the lounge. _ Steve nods, both of them walking over to the nurse’s counter, requesting for two separate charts for their incoming patients of the day. Natasha clears her throat, as Steve leans on the counter, facing Natasha and giving her a small smile.

“Got a lineup of surgery for the day?” Steve asks, and Natasha leans against the counter, her elbow resting atop as she hums and looks up at him, meeting his eyes as she gives him a small smile.

“Got four for the rest of the day, actually,” she answers, and he lets out a chuckle as her smile widens. “But one of it is just a simple aneurysm clipping, nothing Wanda couldn’t handle, so that just makes three for me.”

“Three Wanda can’t handle?” he asks, almost teasingly, his bright blue eyes sparkling, his mouth quirking upward into that boyish smirk she had been  _ oh- _ so familiar with, that she doesn’t even hide a soft chuckle coming from her mouth as she shakes her head. How is it that even after  _ all _ these years, after  _ all _ the things they’ve gone through—he makes it seem so easy? The way he would make her laugh, how he would make her smile, and the way  _ she _ would make him smile and return to their usual old banters?  _ How? _

_ “Yet.  _ Can’t handle  _ yet, _ is the right wording,” she corrects him, quirking an eyebrow teasingly as he laughs softly and nods. “But she’s learning and she’s good, as I’m sure you already know.”

“Oh I’m sure she learned from the best. I got to work with her yesterday for the surgery. She was phenomenal,” he says with a small laugh, and she smiles widely, chuckling as she ducks her head, giving a grateful nod to the nurse as she lays the charts down on the counter in front of her. The nurse Steve had spoken to had also laid his patient’s chart on the counter, but Steve’s eyes don’t leave Natasha’s. “She was  _ you.” _ Steve adds softly.

“Yeah?” she asks quietly, looking back up at him as Steve nods. Her smile widens and she tilts her head. “Well, I’m pretty sure I’m still better.”

And Steve laughs heartily and loudly at that, and Natasha grins widely at the way he throws his head back in the laugh, the way his eyes sparkled, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as he clutches his chest and he nods, his eyes meeting hers again as she lets out a soft laugh, tilting her head as she looks up at him with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. “That I can’t deny. I’d say you’re a hard competition to beat.” he tells her, and she chuckles softly.

“I’m the standard, Rogers, it’s what I tell my residents nowadays.” she says with a shrug, and Steve laughs softly as he shakes his head, looking at her with  _ that _ soft look as if  _ no _ time had passed between them—as if it had always been so easy, and it will  _ always _ be so easy between them.

And Sharon comes back, but she stops in her tracks when she sees the two by the nurse’s counter. She drinks in the sight of Steve who has a small, but affectionate smile playing on his mouth as he talks to Natasha, and the way Natasha smiles and laughs softly as she responds back to him—both their smiles and looks so  _ different, _ so affectionate that she feels no right to just walk in there and intrude, even if she thinks she  _ has _ every right, because she is their coworker on a case, and because she believes he is hers, and that  _ she _ should be on the other end of that affectionate smile and look, and not Natasha. She sighs, swallowing down the bile rising in her throat, at the achingly familiar feeling of jealousy already eating up her insides, one that she was no stranger to pushing down and fighting against every time she and Steve would be in another’s company, every time she would see  _ him _ with another company.

Jealousy, Sharon supposes, is a green-eyed monster she had become so familiar with, yet would never know how to fight against it. It makes her overthink, overwhelm her to the point of paranoia which she tries to fight off and cancel as just  _ that _ —a senseless paranoia towards something that’s not real, a sense of illogical possessiveness over something—and let’s be  _ painfully _ real—over  _ someone _ who is not  _ hers. _ She feels it creeping up on her every time she’s with Steve—the  _ one _ important person in her life she holds on to, her friends root for to be with her, and  _ she _ roots for for herself. She thought the feeling would eventually fade, leaving her once they move out of Seattle and into New York where she had thought she can finally know  _ more _ about him and learn  _ more _ things about him so she can understand him, and  _ maybe _ then, they could live their life together. But now they’re both here, she finds that the green-eyed monster had grown stronger, had become something she can never fight against, and she’s determined to find out  _ who _ or  _ what _ the green-eyed monster is.

She’d always thought Steve’s hesitance to push their agreement further was the creation of a monster that came in the form of unfinished business, the ghosts of his past he can never run away from, a wound  _ she _ could easily heal  _ for _ him so they can live a better life together—but now she begins to think that maybe all of it had been a fantasy. Now she begins to listen to the voice at the back of her head, the one she refuses to listen to no matter how hard she tries, because  _ now _ that they are here, she finds that perhaps his wounds from his past is something she can never heal herself, the ghosts she attributed to be the cause of the creation of the green-eyed monster, is not something he’s running away from to destroy but rather something he’s facing again—and now she starts feeling like a fool for ever thinking it in the first place.

And now, as she focuses on how his eyes sparkle as he looks at, and talks to Natasha, her old friend and classmate, another important person in her life, the  _ best _ one of them all, she comes to the realization that the green-eyed monster is  _ not _ a ghost, but rather a red haired, green-eyed beautifully brilliant neurosurgeon. There are so many things,  _ so _ many questions she wants to ask Steve especially concerning his history in this hospital, one she  _ knows _ she should’ve asked earlier, but never  _ had _ the chance because of her looming fear. But now she thinks, maybe she  _ should _ start asking about his possible history with Natasha because she sees it. She sees history in the way he looks at her, the way he talks, and even the way her nickname slips out so naturally from his lips. She can see his great efforts to be professional with her, leave whatever history, whatever ghosts of the past they had behind, but it slips away once in awhile as they jive so naturally and so...intimately. Sharon can see her fighting it too, and while she puts up a much stronger fight, she can see her slowly and inevitably losing to it too.

Sharon Carter had always considered herself a defier of the odds—the odds that would be against her, as she is a headstrong person who can break the chains and brick walls the universe would put to come in between her and the things she would want to be, the things she would want to have for herself. But as she feels her chest ache, as she continues to watch the way Natasha smiles up at Steve, and the way he smiles brightly and laughs loudly at something she had said, she figures that  _ maybe _ this is just one of the odds she has to overcome and defy.  _ Maybe _ this is one of those odds she has to overcome and fight despite it being against her.

But a lingering feeling in her head tells her that she  _ can’t, _ and she is almost tempted to listen and follow it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys think! Also, check out other works in my profile: Modern Love series, and After Running (I'm Coming Home)!


	9. Everything's Fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the continuous support and kind comments! And I think it's been a few chapters already, but it's gonna be long chapters from here on (from a few chapters ago and onwards...) to kind of keep the pace up of the story. Again, warning for any medical inconsistencies. Enjoy!

When Natasha enters the scrub room in O.R. 3, she feels her heart flutter, skipping a beat as a sort of warm feeling spreading inside her chest as her stomach churns, stopping by the door when Steve lifts his head to look at her, as he continues washing and scrubbing his hands for their incoming operation. She closes the door gently behind her, leaning back on the door as Steve gives her a small, soft smile, grabbing a towel and turning the faucet off as he rubs his damp hands on the towel.

She feels like that timid and infatuated resident she had been years before when she first met Steve, how she still leans back on the door, giving him a smile before ducking her head almost shyly and looking at him through her lashes, how her heart still flutter at seeing him smile, how her heart starts thumping loudly against her chest, and how badly she _wants_ to just _be,_ especially with him. She feels as if time hadn’t passed, that no mistakes were made and no hearts were broken, especially as she watches his smile widening, chuckling softly as he leans back on the sink, and bright blue eyes fixated on her.

For a moment, she allows herself to immerse in _this_ moment—where it’s just him and her, and she allows herself to feel good about it, even if every inch of her is telling her to stop, even if every voice inside her head is telling her to run. For a moment, she doesn’t listen. For a moment, all she sees, and all that matters is him.

“Hi.” he says softly, like _how_ he said it the first time they kissed in this _very_ scrub room in this _very_ O.R.. A lot of things may have happened since then, pleasant and horrible things altogether, but she will never forget that moment—that moment when he first kissed her, that moment when he had fallen in love with her, when _she_ had fallen in love with him. His smile is soft, gentle, like how she remembered it to be during _that_ first kiss, like how she would remember his smile would be each time he would come across her mind, each time she would dream of him and each time she would remember him.

It hurt remembering that smile, and even now as she looks at it, it still hurts, but even after everything, it’s still one of her favorite things to look at, to stare at—his wonderful and beautiful smile, one that she can see in her daughter every time she would smile at her. She still _couldn’t_ believe she’s seeing it, but here it is, anyway, and despite the ache in her chest, her heart flutters and soars, that she feels the corners of her mouth tugging upwards into a smile. And for a second, she allows herself to be that timid resident under his wing, as she lets out a soft chuckle.

“Hi.” she responds softly, holding his twinkling gaze for a moment, marveling at the beauty of his wide smile before she ducks her head, her own smile widening as she walks over to the sink, stopping just beside him before looking down to turn the faucet on, allowing the water to trickle down and wash her hands so she can begin scrubbing. And as part of her pre-surgical routine, she allows her mind to drift away from that O.R., away from the man standing beside her, so she can run through the procedure in her head, run through each technique and tool she would use, recall the scans and put them in an order of importance like how she had talked about with them.

And Steve knows this, her little pre-surgical ritual where she would get lost inside her head, recalling every bit of technique and tool she would use in the surgery itself, as he allows himself a small smile, ducking his head and disposing of the used towel. She had gotten it from him, he supposes, when he used to tell her that running through the surgery in her head prior to a surgery wouldn’t hurt, as it would actually make her better inside the operating room. He used to tell her running through the procedure—though better out loud—will help her see the big picture of the operation, and he’s pleasantly surprised that even after years, she still does that. She still does what he had taught her.

When he was still here, they would run through the procedure together out loud while scrubbing—a ritual they would do together as surgical partners, but he guesses that over time, she had altered the habit of running through it by herself since she had no other choice. Now, he’s here, and _maybe,_ just maybe they could bring that habit back again, like how they used to before.

“Want to run through it with me?” Steve asks gently, and Natasha snaps away from her thoughts, looking up at him as he gives her a smile. “I think it’s better to run through it out loud, to see the bigger and better picture.”

_Like how they used to before._

Natasha smiles up at him, taking a deep breath as she opens a packed soap and starts scrubbing her hands. “Doctor Simmons will perform the incision, and I’ve instructed her to give me an opening of 14 centimeters for maximum decompression of the basal temporal area since, as much as possible, we need to give maximum attention and protection to the brainstem. But by opening it, we relieve the patient of the hematoma,” she starts, and Steve hums as he listens, crossing his arms over his chest as he ducks his head to look down at his feet. “We’ll also have to open the dura mater, which I will enlarge via left patent covered by homeostatic material for faster closure.”

Steve smiles to himself as he continues to listen to Natasha go about the entire procedure, and while he’s not a neurosurgeon himself, he had heard her explain the surgery during their discussion, and he _does_ know enough to know that her course of treatment is sound and will guarantee good results. _She’s good, one of the best ones,_ he recalls Fury telling him that about Natasha, and this is a testament of _that_ statement, _that_ characteristic of Natasha, and he doesn’t doubt it. She had become one of the best, and he’s overly impressed and proud for everything she had become.

“There will be possible complications from craniectomy and cranioplasty, which is why it’s very vital to continue to monitor her even post-op, especially as we go on with the HLHS treatment, as there may be a need to do follow-up surgeries afterwards,” she finishes, and she closes the faucet and lift her hands, allowing the water to trickle down her forearms. Steve smiles at her as she nods over at him, a small smile playing on her lips. “Your turn.” she tells him softly.

Because it’s only fair he would say his course of treatment out loud too, so as to better help in completing the bigger picture they’d create in their joint procedure. He lets out a small chuckle and starts, “The primary objective is to build a new aorta for the kid, make the right ventricle pump the blood through the aorta and to the lungs through the pulmonary artery,” he says, and Natasha hums, leaning against the sink. Steve hands her a towel, which she takes from him to use it to wipe her hands. “We use the modified shunt, which creates a route which will redirect the blood from the right ventricle to the pulmonary artery. It’s a temporary fix, but it will help in getting the blood to the lungs until the next surgery. Afterwards, we close the patent ductus arteriosus or the PDA, which isn’t needed anymore since in theory, the right ventricle had taken over the pumping to the body. Then, we’ll be opening the atrial septal defect to make sure the blood with the oxygen would get back to the right ventricle.”

Steve pauses, just as Natasha disposes of the towel as she faces him again. “It’s a three-to-four week recovery after, and from there, we can start discussing about the next stage. Like you said too, there _may_ be complications, but we’re counting on the monitoring to hopefully relieve her from it.” he says, smiling.

“Guess we’re good. Should be smooth, I hope.” Natasha says softly, and Steve chuckles lightly, nodding.

“Yeah, I hope so.” he says. There’s a moment of silence following after, where they just look at each other, until Natasha eventually breaks the stare and looks down at her feet as Steve just watches her, his own smile fading as he blinks several times, looking down at his feet as he feels his heart thumping inside his chest.

For a moment, they are silent, each second stretching for as long as they can bear, the silence deafening, the atmosphere tense, yet it’s not exactly something or somewhere they want to escape from either. They both think of what to say, both of them feeling the _need_ to say something if only to cover the silence, alleviate the tense atmosphere blanketing them, both feeling the need to point out and talk about the elephant in the room, but neither of them knowing what to say about it, or _how_ to go about it at all.

Natasha bites her bottom lip, opening her mouth to say something, but Steve beat her to the punch, refusing to let _this_ moment be like their moment in the elevator days ago, where he wanted to say something but he didn’t get to. “Remember this room?” he asks quietly, lifting his head to look around, a small smile playing on his lips as she lifts her head to look up and meet his eyes. Yes, she _does_ remember this room—this scrub room, and the things that happened inside it. “D’you remember the surgery too?” he asks, his eyes flicking back to meet hers.

“How could I forget?” she responds, allowing a small smile on her lips as she holds his gaze. “Cardiac myxoma,” she answers softly, the corner of her mouth twitching upward as his smile widens slightly and he nods. She lets out a soft chuckle and shakes her head, allowing her mind to drift off to _that_ surgery—the high during the surgery and the things that happened after. “We almost lost that guy, huh?”

“We did. But in the end, we didn’t,” Steve says with a quiet chuckle, and she hums, nodding as she looks down at her feet. “You managed to save him.”

“Well, _we_ both did. And I learned from the best, didn’t I?” she teases weakly, looking back up at him through her lashes, and he chuckles, feeling warmth spread in his chest, the bottom of his stomach coiling as he watches her. She lifts her head and sighs, pausing for a moment before nodding again. “It _had_ been long ago... _years_ back.” _When things were simpler, when their love was young and much simpler._

Steve nods, swallowing down his throat as he meets her eyes. “A lot’s happened since.” he says quietly, and she nods slowly, looking away as she turns her head to look at the small window through the operating room, her hands gripping on the edge of the sink as she lets out a slow breath, and she shakes her head slightly and clenches her jaw.

“You left.” she says quietly without meeting his eyes. And she says it so quietly, almost _so_ casually, that it hurt, even if it had been the truth, even if it was something he already _knew,_ something _he_ had done to _her._ But she had dropped that fact without warning, without even a warmup of some sort, and it _hurts,_ even if he knew he didn’t deserve a warm up, nor does he deserve a warrant of a warning. He feels the bile rising in his throat, a heavy weight pull down inside his chest as the corners of his eyes start stinging, threatening to be filled with tears, but he holds it in. He holds it in, even if he feels his heart thumping achingly inside his chest, especially as he watches her eyes slowly turn glassy, the dim light of the scrub room reflecting on her green eyes trained towards the operating room window, where Jemma and Sharon are preparing the patient on the O.R. table.

“I did,” he admits quietly, and she turns her head to look back at him, their gazes holding as he nods slowly. “But I came back.” he adds quietly.

Natasha swallows down her throat, her chest constricting, her heart aching as she hangs her head low and shuts her eyes tight. _But I came back,_ for what? And for _who?_ And _why?_ A million things start running through her head, and a million more emotions start running through her heart as it starts thumping loudly inside her chest. She feels confusion, a little bit of hope, a little bit of anxiety, and so _much_ anger, and hurt, and sadness, as she starts shaking her head, crossing her arms over her chest, refusing to believe his words, and refusing to _feel_ all the things and all the emotions running through her brought about by the simple words he had uttered, as if it was something she was _supposed_ to already know, as if it was something _so_ obvious even if it’s not. She purses her lips and lets out a slow and heavy breath as she looks back up at him.

“Why?” she asks in a tight and breathy voice as she starts shaking her head, taking a small step back away from him, her eyes slowly filling with tears, and Steve swallows down his throat “What does _that_ have to do with _me?”_ she asks, her voice a little louder this time.

“It has everything to do with you,” he tells her quietly, and she releases a breath, furrowing her eyebrows, shutting her eyes as she shakes her head. “Everything, Nat. It’s...it’s _you,_ and it’s _everything_ to do with you, and I came back, and—”

“Don’t,” she interrupts him firmly, opening her eyes to look up at him with wide eyes, as if _begging_ him to stop whatever it is he’s about to say. A tear slips down her eyes, trickling on her cheeks as she wipes it with her forearm, and Steve just looks at her sadly, the corner of his lips quirking downward. “Don’t say it, Steve. Don’t...I don’t want to hear it. This isn’t...this isn’t one of those romcom movies shown on cable, Steve. You can’t just walk back in here, pretend everything’s okay and expect everything to go back to how you were before you left—as if nothing’s changed, as if nothing was broken and nothing was damaged. You’ve hurt people, Steve. You’ve hurt…” she trails off, as she takes a deep breath, and Steve ducks his head as he closes his eyes. “You’ve hurt _me.”_ she says quietly, looking away from him as she lets out a slow breath. “More than you could ever know.”

“I know, I…” he says, shaking his head, and he comes out _empty,_ empty and out of excuses because she’s right. She’s right that he had hurt her, that the hurt he had caused her, is beyond something he could ever know, comprehend or understand, something beyond he can imagine. And he _knows_ he can never demand something from her—not even forgiveness, not after what he did, but he’s willing to beg. He _will_ beg, if that was what it will take.

“We’re fine as we are now,” Natasha says softly, not meeting his eyes, even as he looks at her. “I...I think this is better, a-and we don’t...we _don’t_ have to talk...about...about what happened because _this_ is fine, Steve. _This,_ this is fine between us.”

 _This,_ as in the stiff professionalism, how they walk on eggshells whenever around each other, the brief, hesitant smiles, and the _aching_ want to reach out to the other as how they did before, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t do it anymore, and even if it hurts, even if it kills her because _him_ leaving her— _him_ leaving _them_ —had already killed her. And now she’s surviving, thriving, _trying_ her best to be happy again in a world where he’s not with her, and she was getting there. She was _finally_ making it, and she doesn’t want to ruin it. If she does it again, she’s afraid it will just end up the same way it had, and she can’t _afford_ to go through all the things she had gone through anymore.

“I don’t want us to be like this forever.” he tells her, and she sighs as she shakes her head, her shoulders slumping forward as she looks up at him with wide and glassy eyes, her heart aching and chest constricting. She doesn’t, either, but...what’s there left to do?

“Then you shouldn’t have left,” she replies quietly, and her words ring true and valid in his ears, so true and so real that it actually _hurts._ _You shouldn’t have given up so easily, like how you did._ He looks away, the corners of his lips quirking down, his chin quivering slightly as he looks down in guilt, and she sighs. She turns and looks back at the operating room where Sharon is already overseeing Jemma cut open Gabby’s head, knowing that anytime now a scrub nurse is about to come in and cut her moment off short with him. “We can’t bring back how we were before, and you know it too.” she says flatly.

Steve looks back up at her, and her heart breaks a little, seeing his glassy and glistening eyes. She _never_ liked seeing him sad, never liked seeing him so heartbroken, defeated and upset, but _this_ is different. She _has_ to put herself first in this situation, no matter how selfish it sounds, no matter how much it’s killing her, but she’s learned her lesson—she’s putting herself first. “I...I know we can’t, but—”

“Doctor Romanoff, we’re ready for you.” Natasha’s eyes flicker from Steve’s and over to the O.R. door where one of the nurses stand. She then looks at the screen dividing the washing area and the operating room, and she sees Sharon and Jemma looking over at them. 

Natasha’s jaw clenches and sighs, nodding over at the nurse, whose eyes flicker between the two of them before nodding, turning back and entering the O.R. once again. Natasha looks down at her feet. “I’ll see you inside.” she mutters quietly as she turns and walks towards the entrance to the O.R., all while Steve just watches her go, lifting his head to find Natasha already in her operating gown, mask and cap, taking Jemma’s place by the head of the patient as Sharon moves to stand beside the monitor, and the nurses start preparing the surgical microscope Natasha will use for the procedure. He purses his lips and takes a few moments to himself to get his bearings back.

He’d always known it was going to be difficult, have always known it was going to be a long and painful process to fix what he had broken, but now he just _knows_ what he’s asking for is actually close to impossible, that what he’s trying to do is something that might _never_ be done. He’d always thought he could take matters into his hands and fix it, just like how he’d always taken _her_ into his hands and fix what he had broken between them in the first place, but only now does he realize he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t do that anymore because when he broke something between them, she had changed and moved forward—the same way she had described to him as her trying to be happy in a world without him—while he hid and hoped in secret. He thought he could sway her back, catch her again like how he did the first time, but he couldn’t.

He couldn’t, not when she doesn’t want to, not when _she_ is telling him that _this_ is better for the both of them now.

But he’s _not_ giving up. He can’t. He gave up the first time, and he’s not doing it again. He _can’t_ do it again.

So he takes a deep breath, pursing his lips and nodding to himself as he enters the operating room door. The nurses help in putting the O.R. gown, gloves and mask as he listens to the conversations occurring as Natasha continues to operate on the head.

“You really wanted pediatric neurosurgery?” Sharon asks Natasha, and even below the mask, Steve can see her smiling as she looks at Natasha who hums, her eyes trained and focused as she looks through the surgical microscope, with Jemma beside her, also looking through another microscope as well. Natasha’s hands are busy working, while Jemma stands beside her, watching her work attentively.

“I wanted neuro, and when I got to choose a fellowship, I thought to myself, _hey,_ I could go to peds. Operate on tiny heads and spines,” Natasha replies, smiling, as Sharon chuckles softly. “A year after, I got offered a fellowship in neuro-oncology and cerebrovascular, and I accepted it.”

“But you didn’t consider just... _peds_ ever?” Sharon asks, just as Natasha pulls away from the microscope and asks one of the scrub nurses for an equipment, her eyes flickering over to Steve before looking back at Sharon. “I mean, you’re good at dealing with kids and the parents, you’re practically a natural.” Sharon steps aside so Steve can stand beside the vital monitor, and Sharon stands on the other side.

“It was always either cardio or neuro for me. Though I’ve been under peds services for some time, it’s really _just_ always been cardio and neuro for me,” Natasha replies as she retrieves the equipment, stepping back to look through the microscope once again to work. “I like the rather complex and hard ones.”

“You said it,” Sharon says, and then she looks over at Steve. “Hey, Nat was under cardio back then when she was a resident here. D’you guys get to work together back then?” she asks.

Natasha pulls her head away slightly, looking over at Steve for a moment before turning her attention back to the patient as Steve sighs. “Yeah, we did,” he answers, and Natasha just continues to focus on her surgery, as if not hearing the conversation happening in front of her. “She’d been under my and Doctor Banner’s mentorships and services, but I think she’s always been made for neuro.” He then allows himself a small smile underneath the mask. “Though she would’ve been good at cardio too since she’s one of the best.”

“And peds,” Sharon adds, and Natasha lets out a small chuckle and shrug. “You’re good at everything.”

“Not everything,” Natasha replies, smiling over at Sharon as she resumes with her work. “I suck at ortho. Barnes would always give me an earful about that. Never had a knack for cracking bones and operating on them.”

“Well, the hands of a neuro-slash-cardio are delicate and _definitely_ not for cracking and breaking bones,” Sharon says, and her eyes flicker back to Steve. _“I_ would know by working with one for a long time.” Sharon raises an eyebrow at Steve, whose eyes flicker over to Sharon, then to Natasha.

Natasha purses her lips under her mask, letting out a slow breath as she pauses in her work to regain her focus and momentum. She’s not gonna lie—Sharon’s words really threw her out of her momentum, and it’s eating her up slowly and painfully. Out of the corner of her eyes, she sees Jemma look over to her, probably wondering why she paused but at the same time, _probably_ checking whether she’s okay, but Natasha nods, both to herself and Jemma, as she resumes her work, and Jemma looks back at the surgical microscope. She instructs the resident for the suction as she takes a deep breath and looks up at Steve and Sharon momentarily.

“So I’ve heard. People are saying you’ve been together since you started working together,” she starts softly, and Sharon’s eyes flicker over to Steve whose eyes narrow slightly, his eyebrows furrowing as he looks down at his feet. Natasha looks back at the microscope. “How long?” she asks.

“We’re not,” Steve answers rather quickly, and Natasha whips her head up to look at him, furrowing her eyebrows both in surprise and confusion as she meets Steve’s eyes. _What did he mean they’re not...what?_ Sharon lets out a shaky breath, her chest feeling heavy as her heart starts thumping fast against her chest, her head feeling light as she looks down. Steve holds Natasha’s gaze, his eyes glassy, bright and blue. “We’re not together.”

“Just involved,” Sharon adds, almost as quickly as Steve responded earlier, lifting her head once again to look at Natasha, who looks over at her, as the woman smiles, her eyes wrinkling at the corner as if to further emphasize her smile that is not seen underneath the mask. Steve sighs and closes his eyes momentarily, letting his head hang low. “We hit it off right away when Steve first came to Seattle, and by _hit_ it off...well, you know what I mean.” she says with a smirk, and Natasha just lets out a dry and quiet chuckle, nodding as she looks back at the microscope to resume her work.

This is _more_ information than she’d ever ask for, and she wants _nothing_ more than to evaporate and disappear from this place.

“I do, alright,” she responds quietly. _And I wish I didn’t._ She clears her throat. “Doctor Simmons, suction, please.” she says, unaware of how Steve’s narrow eyes flicker over to Sharon who hangs her head low and closes her eyes.

The room goes quiet, as Natasha and Jemma continue to work, while both Steve and Sharon watch the monitor where they can see the brain being operated on by Natasha. And despite everything, despite the _disaster_ that had been their moment in the scrub room and the disastrous and extremely _awkward_ conversation that followed, he marvels at how swift yet steady and precise Natasha works on the brain. _She’s always been made for neuro,_ he thinks, and while he had doubted it long before when he found talent in her for cardio, he can see it now. She _would_ have talent in cardio, but as he watches her work, he’s now _definitely_ and fully convinced that she is indeed _made_ for neuro, and she is where she is meant to be.

The silence drags on for a few more moments that turn into _long_ minutes, the only sounds heard are from the vital monitors, the clinking of tools and Natasha’s soft murmurs whenever she instructs Jemma for a procedure, or whenever she would point things out to the resident to teach her. And the silence continues and stretches, none of them minding the minutes turned to hours, until Sharon _eventually_ asks Natasha, “What about you, Nat? Involved or in a relationship with anyone?” as if _mockingly,_ but when Natasha lifts her head to look over at Sharon, she somehow doesn’t think she meant for it to mock _her_ per se, but it’s a rather curious question she badly needs an answer to, as if it’s a question she had waited so long to ask—practically _hours,_ before she had probably gathered enough courage to ask it.

Her eyebrows furrow slightly in confusion, pausing for a moment to think of what to respond and how to respond to Sharon’s question, before resuming her work. She lets out a breath and shrugs as her hands continue to work. “No time to meet anyone,” she replies softly, her eyes not leaving the open head in front of her. “And I make it a point not to date coworkers anymore so there’s that.” she answers, as Steve just watches her.

“You dated a coworker once?” Sharon asks, raising an eyebrow, and Steve’s eyes flicker from Sharon to Natasha, feeling his heart beating fast against his chest. Natasha hums quietly in response, her eyes not leaving her work. “Is he still here?” she asks.

Natasha pauses for a moment, her eyes flickering over to Steve quickly as she doesn’t stop with her work. She’s _almost_ done, _almost_ through with her portion of the surgical procedures, and she can leave. She can leave out of this hellhole of an O.R., away from Steve, away from Sharon’s questions, away from this little girl on the table that reminds her _too_ much of her daughter. She takes a deep breath. “No, he left long ago,” she responds quietly, shaking her head. “He just...left one night after our shift. When I came back home, he wasn’t there...his stuff weren’t there, and...I don’t know where he went, don’t know where he is.” she responds.

And she feels a sort of heaviness inside her chest after saying it, as if it’s the first time she’s saying it out loud and admitting it out loud, even if it isn’t, as she had admitted it and said it _so_ many times in the past three years. But it still catches her off-guard, the admission cutting through her like it had only been yesterday when he left. But perhaps, she thinks, it might have been something to do with the fact that _he_ —the man who had left one night after their shift three years ago—had returned and is standing a few feet away from her and looking at her, even if she told Sharon that she doesn’t know where that man is, because who _knows_ if this man is the same man that she had loved for years, the same man she was pertaining to as a response to Sharon’s question? This man had told her earlier that he had come back for _her,_ because _she_ had been “everything”, according to him, but the man she had loved had left her long ago like she had been nothing, so who knows if this is the man she had dated and loved? Who knows?

She pauses in her work, and without lifting her head off of the surgical microscope, she closes her eyes, allowing a few moments to take deep breaths, to recover before doing the final steps of her procedure so she can turn it over to cardio and leave.

“Did you ever try looking for him?” Sharon asks softly, and Natasha swallows down her throat and clenches her jaw, furrowing her eyebrows as she blinks several times, forcing herself to get her bearings back so she can resume working. _Why_ in the hell was she asking these kinds of questions during a surgery? Steve frowns slightly, his eyebrows knitting together, as his eyes flicker over to Sharon, who is looking at Natasha expectedly. “I-I mean you said he left, and he just...just disappeared, you didn’t know—”

“I think those kinds of questions are fit for another time, Doctor Carter.” Natasha says firmly, raising an eyebrow as she lifts her head slightly to look at Sharon, who is slightly taken aback by Natasha’s response. She blinks several times in surprise, feeling her heart thumping loudly against her chest and her hands starting to run cold and sweaty, but she nods and looks back down. Natasha takes a deep breath, her eyes meeting Steve’s for a moment before she looks back down to continue the final touches of her work.

More silent minutes pass, with Natasha _finally_ finishing her portion of the double surgery, and she takes a deep breath, looking up from the microscope to look at Steve who looks back at her. “Cardio on standby, I’m about to close after this one.” she says, and Steve nods, facing the nurses as he starts instructing to ready his surgical tools and equipment, as he moves on the other side of the table to prepare for his portion of the surgery. He looks up at the monitor for Natasha’s portion of the surgery, as the nurses work on laying down his tools and equipment on a table beside him, and Sharon moves back to her original position beside the vital monitors.

The room goes silent once again, the sound left inside the room from the vital monitors and Natasha’s tools clinking, as well as the suction on her head. Everyone holds their breath as they wait for Natasha to finish off and fix the final hematoma, the worst, most difficult and most intricate one in the surgery. Natasha narrows her eyes, her hands pausing, and everyone’s eyes turn to her when they see her movements on the monitor stop.

She blinks several times, her eyebrows furrowing as she lifts off her tools, pulling away slightly from the microscope. “Shit,” she mutters, looking back up to meet Steve’s and then Sharon’s eyes, and Jemma looks over at Natasha worriedly, as if _something_ had happened, and she also sees it too. “Don’t panic.” she tells them quietly, turning her head to look at Jemma who gives her a small nod.

Steve’s eyebrows furrow, and he opens his mouth to ask what she meant when Natasha puts back her hands in and Gabby's vitals start dropping and the monitor starts beeping. “Simmons, suction. Quick.” Natasha instructs calmly, as the resident takes a deep breath, her eyes widening as she starts working.

“What’s happening?” Sharon asks, her eyes narrowing as she looks at the monitors. A nurse starts reciting the numbers on the monitors. “Nat, vitals are dropping.”

“Pressure’s dropping, anytime we have to open her chest up,” Steve says, and looks at Natasha who appears completely calm as she continues to work. “Natasha, if the pressure drops drastically, she’s gonna go into cardiac arrest and we can’t afford to let her go through that, her heart’s too weak for that.”

“Tell us what’s happening, Nat,” Sharon says, looking at Natasha. “What’s causing this?”

The monitors continue beeping frantically, the number quickly dropping as Natasha takes a deep breath and looks up at Steve momentarily, before looking back down to continue to work. “She developed tension pneumocephalus, and I need to decompress it further before closing up,” she says calmly. “I _need_ to decompress it before closing her, Steve.”

“She’s gonna go into cardiac arrest if we don’t do _anything,_ Nat,” he responds, but she doesn’t look back up at him, as if not hearing him, and he feels a rising heat in his chest as he releases it with a frustrated huff. “Give me the crash cart!” Steve instructs as Natasha continues to give more instructions to both Jemma and Sharon who both nod, calmly following Natasha’s instructions as they both work with her on the emergency decompressing.

“Nat, I need you to step away and close her up or the HLHS will get worse,” Steve says, preparing the crash cart beside the operating table, but Natasha doesn’t pay him attention as she continues to work. “Natasha.” he calls firmly.

“If I step away from this, she is going to suffer a stroke, coma and brain death. Any attempt on Norwood will be futile if she goes into any of this.” she explains without looking up.

“She’s gonna go into _cardiac_ arrest! She could _die_ anytime soon with or without the pneumocephalus,” Steve says, and Natasha just glares at him and Steve frowns, narrowing his eyes at her, as Jemma and Sharon continue with the decompressions, both of them muttering instructions at each other as Natasha lifts her hands up from the head, completely facing Steve. “Now _step_ away and close her up or she’s going to suffer from cardiac—”

“Unless you’re here to say something value-adding to help treat her tension pneumocephalus or hasten the process of decompression, then I suggest you _shut_ up, Doctor Rogers.” Natasha shouts, her voice raising as she narrows her eyes at him.

“And unless you’re here to save the girl’s life then I suggest you get the _hell_ out of your high horse, Doctor Romanoff, and listen to me when I tell you to step away before further complications—”

“I know what I’m doing, and I _know_ that if I step away, her life will be in more danger than—”

 _“You_ are putting _her_ life in danger by letting this happen!”

“Tension pneumocephalus is a rare neurological emergency but it isn’t the fault of the neurosurgeon, Doctor Rogers,” Jemma finally says, interrupting them as she pulls away so Natasha can replace her, and the resident looks at Steve, whose eyes don’t leave Natasha as she continues to work alongside Sharon. “It’s a rare emergency but it happens, and it develops even in the process of brain surgeries.”

“We _have_ to decompress it first, Steve,” Sharon tells him, looking up to meet his eyes. “Nat’s right, she can die right here if we don’t.”

Natasha and Sharon continue to work on the decompression as Gabrielle’s vitals start dropping frantically and quickly. Steve huffs and shakes his head, as he starts instructing the nurses to start injecting medicine, and start preparing and clearing the chest for the defibrillator should she go into cardiac arrest. In just a matter of a few seconds, if her vitals continue to drop at the same rate it’s dropping now, the three-year-old patient _can_ go into cardiac arrest, and Steve’s eyes flicker from the monitor to Natasha and Sharon.

And she’s on the brink of it as the vitals continue to drop at the same rate, until the monitors start beeping frantically—signalling a critical few moments where the patient’s vitals are low and she _is_ about to go into cardiac arrest. Steve mutters a swear under his breath as he grabs the defibrillator, turning the monitor on, and pulls it nearer him.

“Romanoff and Carter, stay clear,” Steve says, and Sharon pulls away, raising her hands, but Natasha continues, and Steve frowns. “Doctor Romanoff, I said _stay clear!”_

She glares at him momentarily before looking down, unwilling to step away as she works swiftly, and at this point, Steve is _absolutely_ fuming. “If you’re here to prove _something_ or _anything,_ then you’re only proving you’re a goddamn stubborn and egoistic doctor—”

“This is part of the procedure, and she is _not_ going to die under _my_ watch.” Natasha responds as calmly as she can, forcing herself to let the last comment slide even though it _stung_ really hard.

“There’s _never_ a procedure nor a protocol that can threaten the life of a patient!” Steve shouts. “And she _will_ die if she continues to go into arrest, and you don’t stay clear and close her up immediately—”

“Shut _up,_ Steve!” Natasha shouts, stepping away from the operating table, and everyone’s eyes, but hers are trained towards the vital monitors, where the patient’s vitals normalize and stabilize, and everyone, excluding Natasha, sigh in relief, both Sharon and Jemma looking at each other and smiling relievedly, nodding at each other. Steve’s eyes flicker over to Natasha’s as she drops the tools on the table with a bang, glaring at Steve who puts the defibrillators down and orders for the cart to be taken away.

“For god’s _sake,_ Rogers!” Natasha shouts, and everyone flinches as everyone looks at her. “After all this time, you _never_ learned how to trust a co-surgeon?” she demands, as Steve glares at her, and Natasha turns to Sharon. “Close her up before cardio starts freaking out for _breaking_ fucking ‘protocol’.”

She walks over to the door, ripping herself off of her gown, gloves and surgical mask to dispose of it, giving Steve one last glare before exiting the operating room and stopping in the middle of the scrub room. She rests her hands on her hips as she takes deep breaths, pacing around the scrub room as she removes her cap, turning her head to look back at the window looking through the operating room to find Steve taking a deep breath, shaking his head as he takes the position, while Jemma and Sharon assist beside him.

She turns and shakes her head, taking deep breaths as she lets out a frustrated groan before throwing her cap down on the floor and gripping the edge of the sink tightly, hanging her head low, taking more deep breaths as she closes her eyes to will herself to calm down.

_Who the fuck does he think he is?_

Natasha takes a deep breath as she looks back at the operating room, where Steve is cutting the chest open, starting on his cardio routine treatment as Natasha opens the faucet to wash and scrub, shaking her head, her shoulders slumping forward as she feels a heavy weight on her chest. She grips on the edge of the sink tightly and shuts her eyes tight, letting her head hang low and taking shaky breaths as she feels the corners of her eyes stinging, tears threatening to fill her eyes as she scrunches her face, allowing herself _one_ moment to catch up and wallow in the wave of emotions she had been feeling. She whimpers, putting her hand over her mouth to muffle her sob, and not because anybody might hear her, but because she couldn’t _bear_ to listen to herself cry and be weak, not when _he’s_ right there in front of her, even if he couldn’t see her nor hear her. She quickly wipes away the tears falling down her eyes, turning away from the O.R. window to bury her face in her damp hands.

She almost lost her. She almost lost the little girl, and it was gonna be on _her._

And she’s not gonna lie. The exchange, the argument between her and Steve got to the best of her, stung her, as if her simple rejection of him in the scrub room and Sharon’s prying questions hadn’t done a number to her already. But she doesn’t understand _why,_ why it had done a number on her, why she wasn’t unaffected like how she expected herself to be whenever she would think of the prospect of him coming back. She had done it. She had _lived_ happily without him, became happy and content in a world where he’s not there, where he doesn’t have a hold on her, but now he’s back, why does she feel like all around her is crumbling down? That the world that she had created, the happiness she had built around her and Sarah was cracking, and she could only do so much to repair it with the little amount of tape and glue she has on hand.

She feels like she’s back to square one—as if Steve had only left yesterday and she’s left to collect the pieces he had shattered, that she was left to glue back the pieces he had left, those that he hadn’t taken away from her. She’s back to square one, and while she knew she was able to handle it the first time, get through and survive it, she doesn’t know if she can do it again. She doesn’t know if she’ll be able to survive through _this_ one.

She takes a deep breath, crouching down to pick up the cap she threw on the floor as she turns to grab a towel, wiping her hands and face, taking her time to gather and pull herself together. She disposes of the towel and stands in front of the O.R. exit, taking one more deep breath before pulling the handle to let herself out and back into the hospital hallway once again.

She walks, tipping her chin up and removing her cap, smiling as the residents who pass by her smile at her, greeting patients and interns as they greet her. She walks and smiles, like nothing happened, like everything is alright. She fights through and she survives, even if everything inside her is burning and eating her up, she does her best to thrive.

“Doctor Romanoff,” Natasha pauses just as Wanda calls her from the nurse’s station, waving at her and holding up two patient charts. _Right,_ she has two more patients left for the day, two back-to-back surgical procedures scheduled an hour after Gabrielle Byers’ surgery, as she had heard Wanda telling her earlier today. Natasha nods, giving Wanda a small smile as she walks over to her resident. “Hope everything went well. We have two coming up next.” Wanda says, arranging and flipping open the two charts, looking up just as Natasha stands beside her.

“Yeah, everything went well,” she replies quietly, her eyes looking back at the open charts Wanda laid on the counter.

But the resident’s smile fades upon seeing Natasha, and the attending lifts her eyes from the charts to look at her and takes a deep breath, shaking her head slightly as she furrows her eyebrows at the resident looking at her with slightly narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows. “What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Nothing,” Natasha replies, shaking her head as she runs her fingers through her messy bun, pursing her lips together, her eyes flicking back to the charts. “Everything’s fine, everything...everything went well.”

“D’you...wanna go up to see Sarah first, ‘cause I don’t mind, and we have time to spare,” Wanda says, and Natasha sighs. After difficult surgeries, Natasha would sometimes go up to daycare just so she can drop by and see her daughter, maybe cuddle with her for a little while to power herself before going back down. Wanda knew about this, and she also knows that Natasha only does that after pediatric surgeries, like _this_ one she just had. “I mean ten minutes should be fine—”

“It’s fine, Wanda, I promise,” Natasha says, shaking her head. “And Sarah’s with her auntie, so…” She takes a deep breath. “It’s fine. Everything’s alright.” she says, but Wanda furrows her eyebrows further.

“A phone or video call would be fine—” she attempts to insist, but Natasha just shakes her head.

“It’s okay,” Natasha says firmly, and Wanda clenches her jaw, but she nods. The attending takes a deep breath, pushing down the heavy feeling inside her chest as she rests a hand on one of the charts. “Two more surgeries, right? Two more, and...we’ll get through it.” she says.

“Well, _you’ve_ got two more, but I’m on-call so,” Wanda teases lightly, raising an eyebrow as she shrugs. “You’re the only one winning here.” Natasha laughs quietly at that, shaking her head as she shrugs, and Wanda smiles.

“One more year, Maximoff,” Natasha says, taking her first patient’s charts in her hand and hugging it close to her chest just as Wanda mirrors her movements with the other chart, grinning widely at Natasha. “One more gruelling year.” Wanda laughs, following Natasha as they proceed to visit and prepare their second patient.

And five hours, and two back-to-back operations later, she exits O.R. 1, where the last of her back-to-back surgeries were. She pauses in her tracks, and allows herself a small smile when she sees Steve and Sharon by the waiting area, both of them talking to a smiling and nodding Mandy who both hug them in thanks. _Gabby is okay._ The little girl is okay. Natasha tucks her hands in the pockets of her scrubs, ducking her head as the small smile still plays on her mouth as she walks back to the hallway of the surgical floor, away from the waiting area. She stops by the nurse’s station to retrieve both of her last patients’ charts once again, pulling a pen out to start filling out the medical report.

Steve spots her, stopping in his tracks just a few feet away from the nurse’s station as he swallows down his throat. He releases a breath and squares his shoulders, nodding to himself before walking up to her. “First part of Gabby’s surgery is done,” he says, and Natasha pauses in her writing, lifting her eyes from the chart but refusing to turn her head to look at him. “It took a little more time to finish, longer than we’ve told Mandy but...the kid’s okay. She’s recovering, and...Mandy was asking for you too when we talked to her.”

Natasha gives a small nod. “I’ll make sure to swing by their room later.” she says quietly, resuming her writing, and in her peripherals, she sees Steve not moving away from her, instead ducking his head as he takes a deep breath. Natasha closes her eyes, putting the pen down and resting her palm flat on the chart. Her heart starts hammering loudly and fast in her chest, her chest constricting, her throat tightening as bile rises in her throat, and all she wants to do is run to throw up.

Because she can’t handle this. She can’t do this anymore.

“Steve.”

“Can we talk?” Steve asks quietly, and she opens her eyes, lifting her head to look up at him and meet his eyes. He looks tired, definitely worn and drained, and if she was being perceptive enough, she could see that his tiredness is not only rooted from the long surgery he’s had, but rather the other parts that came with it—perhaps her small rejection, her bringing up what had happened to them, their argument and the things he said. But she doesn’t want to assume.

After all, the man she once loved had left, and this man beside her...she doesn’t know him.

“For which part?” Natasha asks quietly, tilting her chin and looking up at him. “The part where I saved the patient from a rare neurological emergency or _you_ screaming and blaming me for breaking protocol?” She clenches her jaw and purses her lips as she shakes her head. “I don’t need to talk to you about _anything.”_

Steve’s jaw clenches as he takes a deep breath, huffing out a frustrated breath, and if Natasha didn’t know Steve better (but she begrudgingly _does),_ she’s starting to think he’s pushing his frustration down to prevent exploding in the middle of the hospital. “You _never_ wanna talk about anything.” he mutters, and she frowns.

“And _you,_ of all people, wonder why?” she asks, shaking her head as she closes the charts, and Steve takes a deep breath.

“I only wanna talk as professionals, there’s nothing wrong with that,” he tells her, and her frown deepens. “We don’t have to talk about anything personal—”

“You screaming at me inside that O.R. is already personal, Steve.”

“And you ignoring my protocol _isn’t?”_

“I was _not_ ignoring protocol, I was saving her _life!”_ Natasha exclaims, her voice raising slightly as she releases a huffed breath. “And the next time you question my decision during a neuro procedure, I am kicking you out of my O.R.—”

“You talk like she’s _your_ patient—”

“She _is_ my patient, as much as she is _yours,”_ Natasha tells him as she grits her teeth. “And you don’t get to say how _I_ do my job and how I talk about and treat _my_ patients because I’m not your _goddamn_ resident anymore, Rogers.”

“Who _said_ I was treating you like one?” Steve asks, his voice rising in the same tone and volume as hers as he begins to feel the heat rising in his chest—the heat of frustration, anger, combined with _many_ other emotions stirring inside him.

“You!” Natasha shouts. “You question my decisions, lecture me about _protocol—”_

“You _did_ break protocol, disobeyed _my_ decision when it’s primarily a cardiac surgery—”

“It wasn’t your decision to make! I _had_ it under control because it was _my_ procedure, _my_ portion of the surgery—”

“Doctors,” Elena, one of the nurses behind the station, calls, walking between them, and the two stop. Natasha starts looking around and sees that everyone in the hallway—including their residents, some interns already whispering at each other, and a few passing patients’ family members—had paused whatever it was that they had been doing to stop and look at them, as if they were a train wreck, and they _are._ Steve ducks his head and takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, as he realizes that they were already arguing loudly. _“Not_ here.” she tells them quietly, her eyes flickering between the two of them.

Natasha ducks her head and looks back at Steve, who is glaring at her, as she takes a deep breath and narrows her eyes at him.

_She can’t handle this. She can’t do this anymore._

But she doesn’t want to let him win.

“I _don’t_ want to discuss this,” Natasha says as she faces Steve who closes the door of the emergency exit door behind him and faces her. She takes a deep breath, running her hand through her hair, as she rests her hands on her hips and looks up at him. “Whatever it is in your head, whatever it is you want to say, you know what, you’re absolutely _right,_ and I’m in the wrong, as I am _always_ in the wrong, so we don’t have to discuss—”

“You broke protocol, of course you have to discuss it with _me,”_ Steve tells her, crossing his arms over her chest. “You broke a protocol that could potentially threaten a young patient’s life—”

“It’s not breaking protocol if I _knew_ how to save that kid, Steve,” Natasha tells him, her tone raising slightly in impatience, exasperation and frustration. “TPs manifest through cardiac arrests, it’s one of its most common pathologies because of the pressure the air bubbles exert inside the body, but decompressing it relieves both the pressure and abnormal vitals.” She shakes her head. _“That_ wasn’t a heart problem right there, Steve.”

“The patient was already suffering an arrhythmia _and_ a congenital heart disease, Nat, right from the start it had already _been_ a heart problem,” Steve replies, his tone raising slightly as well, and Natasha huffs a breath as she starts thinking that they just _might_ have another argument yet again, and she doesn’t want that. “Any _bit_ more pressure put on her heart could have immediately put her in immediate cardiac arrest. Our job was to do all means to keep her heart as safe and intact as we can before we even _try_ to repair it, and we almost failed at that!”

“You’re talking like it’s _my_ fault she was on the brink of cardiac arrest,” Natasha says, her voice breaking slightly in the end, one that doesn’t go past Steve’s notice. _What happened to the kid is not her fault this time._ “I’ve already told you several times, Steve—”

“I know, Nat—”

“Then stop _acting_ and _talking_ like you don’t!” she exclaims, raising her arms in exasperation as she huffs and takes a few steps back from Steve. “You _talk_ to me like you don’t think I _know_ what I’m doing—”

“I wasn’t—”

“—and you second-guess my decisions like I was still under your wing as a resident! You _question_ me, you _bully_ me—”

 _“Bully_ you?” Steve asks, narrowing his eyes at Natasha as she huffs out an exasperated breath.

“You don’t get to have the _right_ to call me names inside _my_ O.R. and during my surgery,” she tells him firmly. “I don’t care what the circumstances are, or what the situation is, but I am sure as _hell_ if it were anybody else inside that O.R. with you, _any_ other neurosurgeon with you, you could’ve handled the situation _much_ more maturely and professionally than you handled it with me. You wouldn’t have _called_ anybody else stubborn and egoistic just because they, like me, asserted my decision and _my_ course of treatment which is _entirely_ different and contrast to yours.”

“What are you saying?” Steve asks.

“I’m saying you’re making this _entire_ thing personal, Steve!” she shouts.

“I am _not—”_

“And I know _you_ better than the doctor who panics the moment the vitals destabilize,” she continues, cutting him off and interrupting whatever train of thought Steve still has as he pauses the moment he hears her voice break slightly, her eyes turning glassy. “I know that if it were anybody else in that O.R. with you, you wouldn’t have panicked immediately, nor will you be forcing that neurosurgeon off of the table just because there’s a drop in the heart and pressure rate, _especially_ when you have been told from the start it was caused by and it _will_ be relieved by a neuro procedure.”

“I already told you, neuro emergency or not, since the patient is suffering from arrhythmia and congenital heart disease, we _cannot_ afford any more pressure put on the heart,” Steve responds, his tone raising slightly. “I was _not_ blaming you, and I was _not_ making it personal by blaming you for it!”

“You reacting to it was the _one_ that made it personal, Steve!” Natasha tells him, and Steve clenches his jaw and sighs. “If it were anybody else, you wouldn’t _blame_ them like that. You wouldn’t call them stubborn, or egoistic, you wouldn’t call them names. _You_ weren’t blaming me on that neuro emergency case, you were blaming me for something else. And I _know_ you hate me, and you _hate_ it now that you’re working with me—”

“I don’t hate you!” Steve interjects.

“But the least you could’ve done is still be professional about it,” she continues to tell him, her voice completely breaking as she feels the corners of her eyes stinging, blatantly disregarding his interruption. She bites her bottom lip as the corners of her mouth quirk downward, and Steve falters slightly as he sees all of these. “You _could’ve_ done better.” she repeats, the end of her sentence coming out as a whisper. _You should’ve done better._ She looks away and turns away from him, running her hand through her face, willing herself to keep the tears in and never let it out.

_I can’t handle this, I can’t do this anymore._

Steve’s chin quivers as he sighs and watches Natasha walk towards the steps of the emergency staircase and sit on one of the steps. He watches as she takes a deep breath, and as she closes her eyes, her elbows resting on her knees as her thumbs massage her temples and the rest of her fingers scratch on her scalp, gathering small portions of her hair and gripping on to it tightly. She is shaky, almost in distress, which Steve is _sure_ of, and is familiar with as well—Natasha gets shaky and distressed, especially after a long day of a series of operations, and after some particularly close calls as well, and he can attribute Gabrielle Byers’ operation as the latter one.

And in truth, whether she tries to hide it or not, Gabby’s surgery _did_ shake her to the core, and perhaps even _she_ is in the right mind to say the surgery only made her more distressed. She thought she could do it, that she could leave the parallelism between the Byers family and her and Sarah, that it wouldn’t hurt as much now she had done her job, but she finds that it just hurts _more_ after everything that’s happened. And at this point, she’s just _tired,_ endlessly so that she finds herself going back to wishing that the earth could just swallow her whole so she could just disappear. She’s _beat,_ thoughtless and feeling trapped especially now that Steve is here in front of her, and _he_ is the one that’s making her feel this way. _He_ made her feel this way, and she hates it. She _hates_ it, and it frustrates her how he still manages to have _that_ effect on her after all these years, even after she allowed herself to believe that he didn’t, that she has moved on and she has moved forward.

Perhaps she has. But perhaps the combined factors of working with Steve, of a parallel of Sarah’s condition and her recent encounters with Steve—the quick shift they had from the almost natural playfulness she had with Steve on the day they took the case, to a hesitant-turned-terse opening of a past they had shared and now refused to talk about, to a heated and tense argument during and after the surgery—all of it in a span of less than a week, will justify the regression she’s feeling. Ultimately, working with Steve in _this_ particular case only made her job significantly harder, mostly because as she tries to protect herself from the danger of being so close and so personal with Gabby’s case, she also tries to protect herself from the danger of further blaming Steve for ever getting _her_ in the situation in the first place, for further falling down into that pit where she had found herself in when he first left.

Over time, she wills herself not to fall down further in that pit when she thought she had gotten past it, overcame it and won over it, but as she continues to work with him in this case, she finds herself still being drawn to that pit, and it’s getting harder and harder for her to resist just going down with it once again. Mostly because she’s tired of fighting it, but mostly it’s also because she’s never really gotten _out_ of that pit yet, and the further they go from here—the more time she spends working with Steve, the more she sees of him and Sharon, the longer she works as one of Gabby’s consulting doctors—she doesn’t think she ever will.

He had hurt her, and she is appalled how he can still manage to hurt her even more at this point after everything that he had done. The hurt is overwhelming, to the point that it’s frustrating and distressing. It _tires_ her out, and it makes her feel weak.

Steve sighs, as he begins to speak up once again. “This case. It really means a lot to you, huh?”

And of course, he has more to say, as if the universe is just completely provoking something in her.

She takes a deep breath and opens her eyes as she looks up at him, clenching her jaw and shrugging. “What makes you say that?” she asks quietly, and almost defensively as well.

“I don’t know, just…” he trails off, releasing a breath as Natasha purses her lips and nods. _Instinct, a lover’s instinct,_ like how they used to call it, whenever one of them would easily feel and easily tell something coming from the other—especially when they’re upset about something. Steve ducks his head and nods. “Is it a patient? After Gabby?” he asks quietly, as if even afraid to ask.

And maybe he should be, because for a _split_ second, Natasha was close to saying it—that _no,_ it’s not a patient after Gabby, it’s a fifteen-month-old patient from last year who suffered TOF. It’s her daughter, Sarah, who also happens to be _his._

She ducks her head, letting her hair cover her face as she starts to fees the walls crumbling down, as she lets out a silent breath as a tear escapes her eyes. Her bottom lip quivers, as she forces herself to resist sniffling, or letting out a choked sob. She uses one hand to cover her mouth, and it’s safe to do so, because she knows that Steve can’t see her face. So she continues to cry as silently as she can, but as much as she can if only to relieve the throbbing and aching pain building up in her chest. She knows it can only do _so_ much, but she supposes it _would_ be enough to at least get her through this conversation until she gets home.

She wipes her face, in a futile attempt to make herself presentable before looking up, but when Steve’s gaze softens, his shoulders slumping forward as he looks at her tear-stained cheeks and tear-filled eyes, she knows whatever attempts she made to look “presentable” did not work at all. She sniffles, letting out a shaky breath.

Does she say it? What does she say?

“Not after Gabby,” she responds quietly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands as she looks away and shakes her head. “Not after...before.”

Is she going to do this? Is she _really_ going to do this? She closes her eyes, feeling her heart thumping loudly against her chest and her hands shaking and running cold.

Steve blinks, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. “O-okay,” he says softly, nodding. “What happened? When was this?” he asks.

Natasha purses her lips, opening her eyes and letting out a deep breath. _What use is it to delay an inevitable revelation, anyway?_ “March of last year, a fifteen-month-old baby was brought in, and uh…” she trails off, pausing to take a deep breath. “The mother...the mother thought it had something to do with the brain, with the _baby’s_ brain. It was a series of...episodes of unresponsiveness, hypoxia and hypothermia. Thor wasn’t...he wasn’t here yet so...there was a misdiagnosis when we all thought...when _I_ it was a brain problem, so we, uh...we opened her up. It wasn’t a brain problem.”

She remembers feeling helpless, feeling her soul leaving her body when Banner and the others had reported nothing wrong with her brain, when she _finally_ opened the scans and found _nothing_ wrong with her brain. She remembers crying and panicking, especially because it was _she_ who forced the call to her colleague to open her up and ignore the scans, and most especially when she spent nights cradling and comforting her little baby as she cried and gasped for air to her Mommy.

“It was TOF, as we found out soon after,” she continues quietly, and Steve sighs as he ducks his head, and Natasha purses her lips together, her bottom lip quivering as she holds the tears back. “There weren’t...I mean, Thor didn’t come until a month later, so we, uh...we recommended her to be transferred to Hopkins, with Doctor Danvers.” she says.

“Carol Danvers in Baltimore,” Steve says, looking up to meet her eyes, and Natasha nods. Carol was one of Steve’s classmates in medical school, one of his close co-cardiac surgeons in fellowship in pediatric cardio who had found her home at John Hopkins. “The baby’s parents were fine with her transfer in Baltimore?” he asks.

“The mother wanted to,” Natasha answers quietly with a nod, feeling a pang in her chest. “She wanted the treatment for her daughter, of course, so...Doctor Danvers handled the case.” She sniffles and releases a shaky breath, looking up to meet Steve’s eyes. “Last I heard, the kid became well. Danvers was able to treat her successfully, so there’s that.”

Steve sighs and furrows his eyebrows. It was a classic case of misdiagnosis, of course, and sure, it had been serious, but he really couldn’t blame the team of doctors working on it, right? There were neurological symptoms like she mentioned, and there were no cardio attendings present. Sure, it _had_ been a mistake, but it’s nonetheless an understandable mistake, a logical one, one that doctors encounter, and wouldn’t really beat themselves over, especially if the patient had ended up alive, anyway.

So he wonders. What’s in the patient that made Natasha beat herself up over and over again for? And he wants to ask those questions. He wants to ask _why_ it affected her, or _how_ it affected her, or _how_ is it related to Gabby’s case. Was it because of the close call? Surely, Natasha has _had_ close calls, if she had worked on pediatric neurosurgery, this wouldn’t be her first close call. _Hell,_ she’s had a lot of close calls and deaths even when she had been a resident, so why does _this_ bother her so much? And why, of all the close calls and deaths she had encountered as a doctor, was she _so_ attached to a fifteen-month-old’s TOF case from March of last year, that she remembers _that_ and immediately connects it to their current ongoing case?

“I just need time,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, but loud enough to interrupt Steve’s line of thought, his eyes landing on hers as he blinks, and she sniffles, wiping her eyes once again. “I need time alone. Some time out.” She hopes the use of their old terms would urge him to give her what she wants: a “time out”, one she usually asked of him _way_ before when they were still together, whenever she just needed some time alone and would need his comforting maybe in a later time when she felt like it. It’s not the same time out she’s asking from him now, but it’s still of the same essence.

Steve gives her a small nod and he sighs. “I’ll leave the charts with the nurses after filling ‘em up,” he says, and she sighs as she nods, closing her eyes and pressing the heels of her hands on her eyes once again. Steve pauses, pursing his lips before taking a deep breath. “I’ll catch you later.” he says.

“Yeah.” she responds quietly, and Steve takes one last look at her before he turns and closes the emergency exit door behind him as he sighs, stopping to gather himself for a moment before he walks back to the hallway.

_“This case, it really means a lot to you, huh?”_

_“A patient before Gabby...March of last year, a fifteen-month-old baby was brought in…”_

Steve furrows his eyebrows and frowns as he shakes his head. It still doesn’t make sense, and he knows it should, or at least he _thinks_ it should? She didn’t deny it. The case of Gabrielle Byers meant a lot to her, and it’s because of what happened to a past patient—the one from last year, the one where the patient was eventually transferred to Hopkins to be treated, so it shouldn’t have been a bother, nor shouldn’t have been a big deal...right?

Does it even matter, though? It shouldn’t...right? _Right?_

But it apparently _does,_ it matters to Natasha, and it’s obviously taking a huge toll on her and he wants to know why. He’s curious, and he pauses in his tracks in front of the attendings’ lounge, his hand resting on the knob as he turns his head to find the computers accessing the hospital’s patient records beside the supply room door. He furrows his eyebrows slightly, eyes narrowing as he looks at it, and he feels his hands run cold, his heart thumping inside his chest—

He thinks about it, thinking of whether to search this mystery patient to better understand where Natasha is coming from or just abandoning this mini and unnecessary quest altogether because _why_ does it even matter? It’s not really a matter of ethics and privacy (although he thinks it kinda still is, thus his hesitance at approaching the computers in the first place), but he still wonders what it would benefit him if he _would_ know about her mystery patient. Why should it even bother him? Why does he even want to know why it’s such a huge deal for her? It’s not like he can turn back time and fix the kid for her, right? Be that cardio doctor the hospital lacked during that time and saved her and the doctors from further hassle by saying that the baby was suffering from TOF and not a brain surgery?

Again, _why_ does it even matter?

But even as he asks himself, he finds himself walking over to the computer anyway, laying his hand on the mouse and moving it so the screen would come alive. It matters, he thinks. It matters because it’s Natasha, and Natasha matters to him no matter what. So, it matters, whoever this kid is, he or she matters. And if it matters to her, it matters to him too. He clicks over at their database, logs on to his account, leading him to their hospital’s patient database homescreen. He’s met with _his_ own patients’ database, where his patients from _years_ ago were still in and listed, and he takes a moment to just scroll through the number of patients he has had since he started in SHIELD, allowing himself a small smile when he sees his very first patient from nearly a decade ago. He takes his time, takes his time to reminisce and remember, smiling when he scrolls past patients he remembers operating alongside Natasha, of course stopping at Robert Griffin’s name, _that_ patient with the cardiac myxoma, whose surgery had led them to grow closer together and admit their love for each other. So, he takes his time, if only to remember the past and for a moment, cherish in it.

Natasha, meanwhile, also takes _her_ time. She takes her time to do whatever she needs for the moment—by the least gather herself, get her _shit_ together to finish and power through the remaining _one_ hour of her shift where she would just do final rounds for her patients before she can go home and rest, snuggle with Sarah, take a good night’s sleep, take the following day off for recovery and go back the following day for work. She takes deep breaths, exhaling slowly and closing her eyes to force her thumping heart to calm down, swallow down the throbbing pain that had spread in her chest and the forming headache as well. She shakes her hands, clears her throat and opens her eyes.

She’d done it. She said it.

And she’s absolutely _regretting_ it. She lets out a frustrated groan as she buries her face in her hands again, shaking her head because she _said_ it. She _said_ things to him about Sarah. But she did it in the vaguest way possible, did her best to sound detached and be detached, and it’s only _now_ that she’s hoping and praying that he wouldn’t catch on immediately to who the fifteen-month-old patient was. And how would he know, right? And for sure, he wouldn’t be bothered by that simple story, considering misdiagnoses happen regularly, and stories like these aren’t that grand and extraordinary, not memorable enough to be remembered nor be bothered about.

“It’s fine,” she whispers to herself, shaking her head as she lifts her head to take a deep breath, one hand gripping on the railings to pull her up on her feet. “It’s fine. All fine.” she mutters to herself, running a hand through her hair as she walks over and pushes the emergency exit door open. “It’s _all_ fine.” she mutters.

But she feels her heart beating loudly against her chest, an odd sort of heaviness weighing down on her. But she dismisses it. She’d been feeling a _lot_ of heaviness going on lately. So it should be fine, _right?_

He clicks the mouse to the search box, and he sighs, clenching his fists tightly as he looks at the various search boxes: patient’s name, primary doctor’s name, surgical department, date of hospital admission and medical condition. He takes a deep breath, recalling the bits of stories from Natasha’s story earlier: _March 2018, pediatrics, Tetralogy of Fallot._ He blinks, frowning slightly at the incomplete search fills but he shrugs nonetheless, and presses the enter button on the keyboard. It’s not like he was expecting a bulk of results, as TOF patients are _rare,_ and what are the odds that a TOF baby would be confined in a hospital in the same month as, say, _seven_ other babies, right? He could easily sift through the resulting records, assuming he _would_ be able to access it with the correct search fills.

There’s only one result that came up on the screen, and he moves the cursor to the patient’s name, but he pauses. He furrows his eyebrows, frowning slightly as he leans in towards the monitor to make sure he’s reading the name of the patient right. He feels his heart dropping, his hands running cold as he just stares at the monitor in confusion, in surprise, in...in sheer and utter _anxiety._ He feels like the monitor is mocking him, like it’s showing something he _should_ know, like he should _know_ what it means, like he should _know_ what the name is, and he thinks that he _should_ because this patient, this...this _kid,_ has _his_ name, as well as _hers,_ as well as his mother’s, and he feels like he _should_ know who she was or who she _is,_ but he doesn’t...and he continues to stare at the screen, at the name...

Who the _hell_ is Sarah Alexandra Romanoff-Rogers?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WEEWOOO let me know what you think! And for other works, check my profile!


	10. The Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this fic kinda blew up, huh? Thanks to everyone who continues to read this, and for all your comments (that mostly consist of omg, oh my god and sarah's full name) about the last chapter! Here's the next update, and enjoy!

He stares at the screen, because it’s all he could do. It’s all he  _ thinks _ he could do, because suddenly, nothing else around him matters. He feels his heart sink, his insides burning and his head light and dizzy, as he feels all air suddenly leave his lungs. But he forces himself to breathe, and he tries to catch his own bearings and remember where he is, and why he’s here, and what he is looking at. He blinks several times, forcing himself to focus as he holds on to the computer mouse tightly like a lifeline—as if it’s the  _ only _ thing keeping him together, as if it’s the only thing that can ever keep him sane.

He takes a shaky breath, and he slowly releases a long one. And he swallows down his throat as he blinks several times once again because his vision is starting to blur as he starts feeling more light-headed, shaking his head to make himself  _ focus, _ focus so he can read, focus because  _ this _ kid... _ this _ kid is… _ no, _ it can’t be. It can’t  _ be, _ right? He reads. He reads and he reads and it's only _one_ line that he's reading over and over, but it feels like it doesn’t make sense. It feels like the  _ words _ on the records don’t make sense because it really  _ doesn’t _ make sense at all. This kid, this...this kid who has his mother’s name, and has her name as well as his, she’s…

She’s Sarah Alexandra Romanoff-Rogers, born on the fifth of December 2017—eight months after he had left. She was fifteen months old when she was admitted—when her  _ mother, _ according to the narrative report, admitted her in the hospital—for neurological symptoms: episodes of unresponsiveness, hypoxia and hypothermia, and she was operated under Doctor Banner’s supervision as well. The operation was futile, as she was later diagnosed with TOF, when she was recommended for transfer in Hopkins in Baltimore under Doctor Danvers’ supervision. She then had the necessary surgery to fix her heart—repairing the hole, replacing the valve, and all of those things. Afterwards, she was brought back to New York, back in SHIELD, where followup check ups were made, when she had gotten it frequently a few months following her surgery until she was fine, until when her heart was eventually fixed.

She was born to Natasha Alianovna Romanoff, and...and  _ her _ alone, because even if  _ his _ name is on the record attached with hers on Sarah’s name, there was still no mention of him as one of her supposed _two_ legal guardian parents, because he wasn’t there. He hadn’t even known of her existence. He couldn’t  _ be _ the little girl’s legal guardian if he wasn’t there, let alone even  _ know _ who she was. There was  _ no _ evidence at all that he was in any way related to the little girl named Sarah in a biological sense, even if his name is attached in hers, and it doesn’t make sense. It  _ doesn’t _ make sense at all as he does his best to wrap his head around it, and—

“Steve?”

He flinches, tensing and freezing in his place, his heart skipping a beat and pinching so painfully inside his chest at hearing that soft, familiar voice call his name. He raises his head but he doesn’t turn or look back at her as he slowly tries to ease himself back into his bearings, where he can see clearly through the blurring edges of his eyes, hear beyond the loud thudding of her heart and blood pounding in her ears, and think and focus so he can  _ wrap _ his head around the fact that…

He closes his eyes as he releases a shaky breath, feeling a heavy weight inside his chest starts to pull him down and clench his heart tightly, as if squeezing the life out of him. He feels light-headed, as if he was going to faint and he absolutely  _ hates _ it. He hates being out of control, he hates not having a grip on himself and his consciousness. He hates that his heart is pounding fast against his chest, how his hands are turning clampy and cold even as he grips on the mouse and at the edge of the table holding up the computer database. But most of all, beyond hating the fact that this situation is outside of his control, beyond him hating the fact that he is losing his own grip of himself, his consciousness and with his physical responses, he  _ hates _ not knowing. He hates that he doesn’t know about this one precious gift of life that he may have created with a woman he loved—the woman he  _ still _ loves, but now he can’t even bear himself to look at, because he  _ hates  _ how it’s unfair that  _ she _ knew her, but  _ he  _ didn’t, how  _ she _ knew, but she didn’t let him know.

It’s unfair how she got the chance to know her all her life, and  _ he _ didn’t even get to know about her until  _ now, _ in the most impersonal way possible.

_ But then again, _ he thinks as he pauses, holding his breath before he could do or _say_ anything more,  _ whose fault is it, really? _

Natasha tucks her phone inside the pocket of her scrub pants slowly, almost warily as she narrows her eyes at the back of Steve’s head. Since walking back in the lobby after asking Steve for a bit of a “time out” to recover from their argument, as well as her vague revelation of Sarah and her condition, Steve was already by the computer beside the supply room door. She had stopped by the nurse’s station to check if Wanda had done the final rounds for their patients, had already went back up to check on the Byers who were already passed out by the time she had gone up, and now she as she was about to go back to the lounge so she can prepare to go home, Steve was still by the computer beside the supply room door, though  _ this _ time, he was staring at it as if dumbfounded, with furrowed eyebrows, wide eyes and mouth hanging slightly open in confusion and...surprise?

What could be in there that could...surprise him, maybe? If she had been reading him correctly even from afar, even from his side profile?

So she paused in her tracks as she was walking towards the lounge and called his name just to check if he was alright, or if  _ everything  _ was alright or if there had been something wrong. It could be something in Gabrielle Byers’ records? Something fishy in one of the records of his patients? But when she called his name in a soft voice, he didn’t turn nor did he even acknowledge that he had heard her. And she was about to discount his ignorance to perhaps the mere fact that he hadn’t heard her, but she couldn’t ignore him tensing upon hearing her voice. She couldn’t ignore his head lifting slightly, eyes tearing away from the screen, and the way his hands gripped the mouse as well as the edge of the computer stand tightly. He had heard her, but he wasn’t at all responding to her.

Was he still  _ mad _ about their whole ordeal in the O.R. earlier?

And she is about to open her mouth to speak, say something about how sorry she was in the O.R. (even if she isn’t, but she also isn’t just about to go into another argument with him about the _same_ thing over and over again, is she?), or maybe say something about how if he would need her, she would just be in the lounge, but then her sharp eyes land on the computer monitor past him, at the same time Steve slowly turns to look at her. She narrows her eyes slightly, taking a step forward towards him, and in a split second as she sees what he had been looking at all this time on the computer screen, she feels her heart sinking and her hands turning cold as she balls them into a fist. She feels herself releasing a shaky breath as the corners of her eyes start to blur as she begins to hear  _ nothing _ more beyond the blood rushing and pounding inside her ears, and she blinks several times as she shakes her head, her breathing becoming heavier and more ragged as she feels like the air around her had just become heavier and harder to breathe in.

She misses the way Steve looks at her as she focuses on  _ her _ name—her daughter’s name,  _ their _ daughter’s name on her personal medical records on the screen. He was viewing Sarah’s medical records, and he  _ knows. _ He knows that she is _the_ fifteen-month-old TOF patient who was misdiagnosed to have neurological symptoms that could’ve been fatal for her. He knows that  _ she _ is  _ the _ mother of the patient who was insistent upon transferring her daughter to Hopkins to be under Carol Danvers’ care because she knew  _ her _ to be Steve’s amazing and talented colleague in pediatric cardiology. And he  _ knows, _ just by probably looking at Sarah’s name, that she is  _ his, _ even without seeing how similar the slopes of their noses were or the same shade of blonde they share in their hair. He  _ knows _ because she had taken his mother’s first name to be  _ her _ first name, and because during a time when she had still hoped and dreamed for him to return, she had opted to attach both of their last names together for her, in a final and desperate plea for him to come back because he was also part of creating this wonderful girl she had given birth to.

And thinking about all of these just makes her sick down to the pit of her stomach, that as she swallows down her throat, she knew she could taste bitter bile at the back of her mouth.

“Nat?”

She hadn’t even realized that tears had already slipped out of her eyes until she heard him call for her quietly. She blinks, wiping her face with the back of her hand as she trains her eyes at him as he looks at her expectedly,  _ waiting _ for her to probably explain and tell him the truth of who Sarah Romanoff-Rogers really is, even though, by the look of his face, he already  _ knew. _ She doesn’t need to say it, really. She doesn’t need to spell it out for him nor does she need to explain  _ how _ or  _ why _ because the man is smart enough to figure it out for himself, and because it’s already literally spelled out for him that he just needs to read and digest all of it to really  _ know. _ It’s perhaps not a difficult pill to swallow—the reality that he is a father, and when he had left, he had left both Natasha and his kid.

Well, it’s not difficult compared to the pill of reality that is  _ him _ finding out so impersonally and not from Natasha herself.

Maybe  _ that’s _ what he’s expecting to hear from her—why he never knew, and why she never said it. It’s a conversation she  _ knows _ they should have, she knows that they should  _ eventually _ have, but it’s a conversation she doesn’t want to have yet, it’s something she  _ can’t _ give him yet because if his departure three years ago was something she isn’t ready to talk about, let alone _face_ yet, what more for the fact that during one of the worst moments of her life when they both needed  _ him, _ he wasn’t there? That his departure and absence had not only cost their relationship but it  _ almost _ cost a fifteen-month-old’s young life?

Natasha’s chin quivers as she opens her mouth slightly to say something,  _ anything _ at all—but  _ nothing _ comes out, not even a whimper and not even a sob. She feels a dead heavy weight inside her chest that she just releases a shaky breath, and pursing her mouth and clenching her jaw, her eyes flicker over to the computer screen, where Sarah’s medical records are still up. She feels _sick,_ and she feels trapped and lost and she doesn't know what to do. She doesn't know what to _say,_ where to begin should she explain, so she just ducks her head and turns on her heels to walk to the attendings’ lounge without a word, knowing that Steve would follow her. And even if she wouldn’t want to, even if it was still painful to admit it out loud, she knew they would be having the conversation now because she knows Steve. He wouldn’t give up on knowing just yet, nor would he let it slide, especially if it’s something as big as this.

And what’s the point of holding in it any longer, anyway? What’s the point of having to delay the inevitable?

She hears the lounge door close as she stops in front of the lockers. She lifts her head and takes a deep breath, closing her eyes as she listens to his slow footsteps not far behind her until he stops. She opens her eyes and scans the empty and dim-lit lounge, allowing her eyes to focus on the abandoned half-filled cup of tea by the counter beside the sink, as well as what she knows to be Bucky’s empty sandwich container on the roundtable in the middle of the lounge. _He must have forgotten it when he left,_ she thinks to herself, prying her eyes away from it. She allows herself to focus on the smallest and the most mundane things she can spot inside the room, if only to let herself see beyond the tears that are blurring her vision, if only to let herself hear beyond the loud pounding of her heart inside her chest, if only buy herself a few more moments to brace herself for what will be a huge blow.

She crosses her arms over her chest as she releases a shaky breath as she slowly turns to meet his eyes. His eyes are glassy, wide and confused—as if searching her for answers to what she could imagine to be his multitude of questions. But she waits for them to come. She waits for him to speak up, and ask  _ her _ the questions she could answer, and she swears that  _ this _ time, she would tell the truth if he would ask her to. So she waits. But as she waits, so does he. He waits for  _ her _ to tell him the answers to the unspoken questions, to the questions he thinks he didn’t _need_ to ask out loud because he knows she saw what he had been looking at. He knows by the tears that had fallen from her eyes earlier—whether these may be tears of sadness, of guilt, of frustration or whatever—that she knew of the questions he would ask, and he waits for her to answer these unspoken questions because he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t  _ ask _ it even if the words are already on the tip of his tongue and all he has to do is open his mouth and  _ say _ it,  _ ask _ it. But he  _ couldn’t, _ partly because he’s afraid of confirming what he already knows, what’s already  _ given _ and spelled out, and partly because he doesn’t know which question, in a wide array of questions, should he ask first. So he waits, and so does she.

But as they wait, the silence grows heavy, stretching each second longer than necessary, longer than they remembered, longer than their moments in the elevator and inside the scrub room. It’s agonizing as it is excruciating, as they look at the other’s eyes and see the swirl of emotions forming along with the tears, as they both wait for whoever will give in first, for whoever will speak up in the midst of the tense and heavy silence enveloping the both of them.

It’s Natasha. Natasha is the first to give in. “I was gonna tell you,” she croaks, and she winces at the sound of her hoarse whisper as she clears her throat and nods slightly at him. “I was gonna tell you...about her.” she repeats quietly, her eyes becoming glassier as she purses her lips tight, and even from where he is, he can see her chin quivering, her bottom lip wobbling as she does her best to hold the tears back.

“When?” he asks quickly, and his voice breaks as he does so. Natasha closes her eyes for a moment and releases a slow and shaky breath, pulling her arms tightly against her as if bracing and protecting herself. Steve shakes his head. “When were you gonna tell me?” he repeats.

She doesn’t know. She doesn’t, because  _ never _ in her wildest imaginations had she ever thought that she would need to. She had once dreamed that he would come back, once hoped and prayed, but that had been  _ before, _ before Sarah got sick, before his absence had broken her heart  _ more _ times than she had ever imagined it would. And when he returned, she never thought about telling him—about the urgency of having to tell him because like she said, it was a conversation she thought she would get a hold and control over, and she wasn’t  _ ready _ to have the conversation yet. She  _ was _ going to tell him at some point, but she never knew  _ when. _

“That thing you said in the staircase,” Steve continues, his eyes slowly filling with tears as he takes a step forward towards her and she looks away. “That was it? That was  _ you _ telling me about her, when you couldn’t even say her name? When you couldn’t even  _ say _ who she was and  _ how _ it affected you?” he asks, his voice raising slightly especially at the last question. “Was  _ that _ it? Was that you telling me who she was and I just missed it?”

Natasha sighs and shakes her head slightly, shutting her eyes tight as she bites her bottom lip. “No, I…” she answers, shaking her head as she releases a breath and she opens her eyes. “That...that wasn’t...that wasn’t it, I—” she tries to say.

“Then  _ when?” _

“I don’t  _ know.” _ Natasha replies firmly, looking back at him as she frowns. “I don’t know  _ when, _ but I  _ was.” _

“Then tell me,” Steve says, crossing his arms over his chest as he squares his shoulders and straightens himself. “Tell me now. Tell me that  _ that _ kid, that...that once-fifteen-month-old little girl in March last year who suffered from TOF, she…” he trails off and shakes his head, unable to continue as he releases a huffed breath, his heart squeezing so painfully as he struggles to find the words, as he struggles to connect the painful words that form such an excruciatingly heart-wrenching reality. _The girl, who was she? The mother, that was you?_ “Tell me.” he whispers, his voice only loud enough for her to barely hear, but it’s something she heard anyway.

She purses her lips together and releases a slow and shaky breath, tapping her foot nervously on the floor as she squeezes her arm with her hand. The words are there. The words are  _ literally _ on the tip of her tongue and all she has to do is just  _ say _ it, and admit it out loud and it  _ could _ be fine. The burden and the weight inside her chest could be lifted, and all could be fine.

And she says  _ could, _ because she’s not so sure, and that’s what’s keeping her from saying it in the first place—the uncertainty of whether saying it would do something good especially for the both of them, or it  _ could _ only lead into yet again another fight, another argument where  _ she _ would be in the wrong once again. And judging by the look, by the  _ frown _ on his face and by the tone in his voice, she knows that it  _ wouldn’t _ turn out so well between the two of them, whether she would say it out loud or not. So she braces herself for the blow, for the fight that’s about to come even though at this point, it’s the last thing she would want to have.

_ Universe, you’ve done it again. _

“Who is she?” he asks again, his voice quiet and hushed.

Natasha swallows down her throat as she takes a shaky breath. There’s no point here, isn’t it? Whether she will say it out loud or not, they were gonna talk about it anyway,  _ fight _ and argue about it anyway, like how they had been three years ago. What’s the  _ point _ in having to delay it?

“She’s my daughter,” she answers softly, her bottom lip wobbling as she does so, and she pauses. She purses her lips as the corners of her mouth start to quirk downwards, as tears slowly fill her eyes and as she does her best to hold back the tears, to hold  _ everything _ in. She takes a shaky breath as Steve waits patiently, his breathing heavy and anxious as the atmosphere around them starts to weigh down on  _ both _ of them. “She’s  _ your _ daughter.” she continues quietly, a tear slipping down and sliding down her cheek.

And there, she said it.

She said it in the hopes that it would lighten the weight inside of her, in the hopes that the burden would be passed on to him, so  _ he _ can make his move, so he can say it piece, but even as she says it, the weight, the burden only gets heavier. She feels as if all the air inside her lungs has been knocked off, her chest squeezing as she struggles to breathe because the air around them is too heavy, too  _ dense _ for her to breathe in and live in, and it only gets heavier as she watches him struggle to form his own words, as she watches his expressions go from surprised to confused, sad and mad, as he struggles to know what he’s supposed to feel about this news, about this vital piece of information that changes how he sees everything—from his reason for leaving, the consequences of his departure and absence, this hospital that  _ failed _ her, and Natasha, and…

_Natasha._ _God,_ he left _her_ to raise their kid by herself? Their _sick_ little kid?

“H-how?” he asks in a hushed voice as he shakes his head. “How did...how?” he asks, and Natasha furrows her eyebrows as she shakes her head, huffing out a quiet laugh.

“Are  _ you _ really asking me  _ how?” _ she asks quietly, knitting her eyebrows together in confusion.  _ “You, _ a medical doctor, are asking  _ me, _ how we—”

“How did you do it?” he asks quietly, and she blinks, feeling her heart sink at his hushed voice and his question. “How did you…” He shakes his head, his chin quivering as he ducks his head and takes a shaky breath. He lifts his head and meets her eyes again, and her heart aches when she sees the tears forming in his eyes. “How did you...by  _ yourself…” _

Natasha clenches her jaw and shakes her head as tears start to fill her eyes again. “I had no choice, Steve,” she responds quietly, and she sniffles as another tear slips down.  _ “You _ left me no choice.” she adds quietly, looking down at her feet.

“I wouldn’t have…” he says quietly, shaking his head, and Natasha frowns, sniffling as she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “I wouldn’t...Nat, I wouldn’t have, i-if I knew—”

“Knew  _ what?” _ Natasha asks quietly with wide glassy eyes as she shakes her head at Steve who blinks several times at her abrupt interruption. “If you knew I was pregnant?” she asks, furrowing her eyebrows, and narrowing her eyes over at him.

He’s not gonna deny that he knows how it must sound like, which was why he paused, pursing his lips tightly as he releases a slow and shaky breath, resting his hands on his hips as he looks down at his feet and ducks his head, allowing himself a pause so he could think more clearly and precisely.  _ I wouldn’t have left if I knew you were pregnant. I wouldn’t have left if I knew there was a child. I wouldn't have left if I knew there was something outside you concerned me. _ It sounds selfish, and maybe it does. But it also seems like a huge deal, and it’s something that Natasha knows and acknowledges, and it’s something she so  _ badly _ wants to believe and dream of.

Him staying, Steve  _ staying _ instead of leaving—it could have changed their lives, could have changed how things would have turned out, and could have changed the entirety of their relationship—making it better than how they are now. They could have been a  _ family. _ She wouldn’t have had to do this alone, wouldn’t have had to suffer alone. She wouldn’t have spent nights crying herself to sleep because of how tired and heartbroken she was. Sarah wouldn’t have gone through—

“No,” Natasha says, both to Steve and to herself and her thoughts and musings, all the what-ifs and what-could-have-beens, shaking her head as she feels the corners of her eyes stinging as she presses her lips tightly together. She pushes all of those down, all of the what-ifs down because she  _ can’t _ let it blur her mind. She can’t let it consume her, can’t let it break her,  _ not _ in front of him. Steve lifts his head and looks at her. “No. No, you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t have...you wouldn’t have stayed either way.” she tells him quietly, and he furrows his eyebrows, frowning slightly as he shakes his head.

“Nat—”

“You wouldn’t want that,” she continues loudly, her voice cracking as she bites her quivering bottom lip. She says it, as if to convince both him and herself, if only to prevent herself from falling into the heartbreak of thinking once agin about the what-ifs, if only to protect herself from thinking of an alternate reality where he would have  _ stayed, _ like what he was trying to imply. She shakes her head and swallows down her throat, taking a step back away from him. “You wouldn’t have wanted that, you wouldn’t have wanted  _ us _ —” she continues to tell him.

“You don't know what I want, Nat,” Steve says firmly, knitting his eyebrows together as he slowly feels a swirl of frustration rising up inside of him. “You don’t get to say those kinds of things, because you don't know what I want and—”

“Except I  _ do, _ Steve!” she exclaims loudly, and Steve’s frown deepens. “I  _ do _ know what you want and what you  _ don’t _ want—”

“You don’t get to assume the things I want and I  _ don’t—” _ Steve argues back, his voice rising in anger and frustration.

_ “Jesus, _ Steve, I didn’t  _ need _ to assume because you told me  _ straight up!” _ Natasha shouts. “You told me you didn’t want to  _ love _ me anymore, so you  _ left. _ You wanted to be happy, and so you did, so you decided you didn’t  _ want _ to love me—it’s not  _ something _ I assumed, Steve, it’s something you  _ said, _ and it was clear when you walked away and disappeared for  _ three _ goddamn years!”

_ I don’t want to love you anymore, I want to be happy. _ It’s what he said. It’s the last thing he had  _ told _ her before leaving.

“You didn’t  _ need _ to tell me because you  _ showed _ me!” Natasha continues, as Steve releases a shaky breath, his own words in the payphone booth echoing inside his head as he watches the tears slide down Natasha’s cheeks, her voice breaking as she sniffles and does, in vain, to hold her remaining tears back. “You didn’t want anything to do with me, you didn’t want to love me, but guess  _ what,  _ Steve, wanting to have  _ her _ in your life would mean wanting at least a  _ part _ of me too, because  _ she _ is  _ my _ daughter as much as she is yours—”

“I didn’t  _ know, _ Nat! That’s the point, I didn’t  _ know, _ and I don’t understand because you never said anything—”

_ “What?” _ Natasha shouts, her eyebrows knitting together as her frown deepens.

Steve disregards her interruption, shaking his head as he continues, “And I had to find it out through a computer in an attempt to understand  _ you _ and what happened inside that O.R. and all I got were  _ pieces, _ Nat,  _ small _ pieces that I  _ had _ to piece together—”

Natasha shakes her head and furrows her eyebrows in confusion. “How do you even  _ do _ that?” she shouts defensively.  _ “How _ is it that you manage to turn this around on  _ me, _ that it’s  _ my _ fault that you found things out the way  _ you _ did just because I confided in you about something that affected me professionally?” she exclaims.

“I am  _ not _ blaming  _ you, _ Natasha,  _ God, _ would you just calm down and  _ listen _ to me—” Steve shouts in response, exasperated and frustrated at where they are both heading. And he’s tired, and he knows she is too, and he just wants to  _ talk _ so he can know and understand better, but everything, and he means  _ everything, _ that he says is being taken the wrong way and he’s growing more and more impatient and frustrated because was it on  _ him?  _ Is he  _ saying _ it the wrong way? Or is  _ she _ taking it the wrong way?

“Calm _down?"_ she shouts incredulously. "No, you know what? You wanna blame me? You wanna put everything like it’s  _ my _ fault, do it!” Natasha shouts, with the same anger and frustration Steve has, rising inside of her as she balls her fists on her side, glaring at him. “Say it’s my fault you didn’t get to know her, say it’s  _ my _ fault you got to know about her through a computer since it wasn’t how you wanted it to be!”

“I never said  _ anything _ about everything being  _ your _ fault, Nat!” Steve responds, frowning.

“No, you don’t  _ need _ to say it, because it’s  _ there, _ by the look on  _ your _ face, and the way you say things, the way you’ve _ always _ said things!” she exclaims, and Steve looks at her incredulously. “Don’t you see that  _ this _ is what you do, that you just  _ decide _ on whose fault is on who, and how things are gonna go?”

“I am not the one deciding on  _ anything _ in  _ that _ situation—” Steve attempts to respond as he tries in vain to quell and neutralize the situation, but she was having  _ none _ of it.

“Of course, you’re the one deciding, Steve, you’re  _ always _ deciding! You decided to  _ walk  _ away. You decided to leave, and now you decide to stay. You decide to leave us behind, and now you decide you’re coming back for me, and you’re staying because of  _ her.” _ Natasha tells him.

“I am  _ not _ the one deciding  _ anything _ in this situation!” Steve defends.

“You always decide on  _ everything _ because that’s how it’s  _ always _ been between us!” Natasha shouts.

“I wasn’t the one who decided she needed an unnecessary neuro procedure, was I?” Steve shoots back, and Natasha’s eyes widen slightly, her mouth opening slightly in shock as she falters and freezes in her spot. And even as Steve knows he just hit her in the  _ right, _ exact spot, in his fit of overwhelming frustration and anger, he continues. “I wasn’t the one who froze and lost my mind in the middle of a crisis, and in a fit of panic, did the  _ first _ thing that’s in my head even if it had been the most irrational thing to do that almost  _ risked _ an innocent life. I wasn’t the  _ one _ who decided on these things, Nat, and I haven’t been the  _ one _ deciding all along in this conversation, it was  _ you. _ All of  _ this _ is on  _ you!” _

And it  _ is _ a low blow this time, something that hits her hard at home, something that hits hard on  _ both _ of them, and for him it was mostly because he didn't _think_ he had the right to call her out on _that._ Steve, too, pauses, his eyes widening in realization at what he said, as he ducks his head in sheer embarrassment, feeling the anger inside him being quickly extinguished and replaced by the freezing cold feeling of regret and shame washing over him. He releases a breath as he closes his eyes, his hands turning cold and his cheeks burning hot in embarrassment. He lifts his head, risking to train his eyes to hers, but his heart squeezes so painfully with guilt, when he sees her wide glassy eyes filled with tears, her mouth slightly open, the corners of it quirking downwards, her bottom lip quivering as more tears spill from her eyes.

“You don’t get to do that.” Natasha murmurs quietly, enough for him to hear as Steve releases an exasperated breath.

“Do _what?"_ Natasha shakes her head, her eyes not leaving his.

“Put yourself in such a high moral ground.  You don’t know what I’ve been through,” she starts quietly, gritting her teeth as she continues to glare at him even through her blurred vision. “You’ve never panicked over seeing her small hands and feet turn blue. You’ve never cried while you held her as she gasped for air to breathe,  _ knowing _ and  _ thinking _ all the while that it was on  _ you _ that she was suffering, that she had suffered in  _ your _ body that’s how she ended up like this. You have no idea how that messes a person’s head up. You never had to claw your way back from that each day so you can save lives, knowing you could barely save the  _ one _ life that meant a  _ whole _ lot to you, but I have.  _ I _ have, Steve, so until you’ve done  _ all _ of that alone, you…” She trails off, her voice cracking as she shakes her head, her face scrunching as she feels the weight getting heavier and heavier inside her chest. She opens her mouth to continue, but only a whimper comes out, followed by a sob, and then that was it.

The walls she had fought so hard to build to protect herself over the years breaks, and she feels the walls, and eventually  _ herself, _ crumbling, all while Steve watches in surprise and guilt.

Because they did this wrong. They’re  _ both _ doing this wrong, and they both know it, both of them only grasping on that fact now, after  _ everything _ had already been said, and after everything had already been done. Natasha knows that, especially now as the swirl of anger and frustration directed towards him is slowly subsiding, quickly being replaced by a strong wave of guilt at the things she said, and at Steve’s own words that ring true in her ears:

_"I wasn’t the one who froze and lost my mind in the middle of surgery and in the middle of a crisis, and in a fit of panic, did the first thing that’s in my head even if it had been the most irrational thing to do that almost risked an innocent life._ _I wasn’t the one who decided on these things, Nat, and I haven’t been the one deciding all along in this conversation, it was you.”_

_ “All of this is on you.” _ he had said, as if it’s something she hadn’t known, something she hadn’t thought of, especially now in the aftermath of a strong wave of emotions, in the aftermath of yet again _another_ argument, in the aftermath of  _ once again _ letting her emotions take over her logic—where she  _ once again _ hurt the person who meant a lot to her because of a _fast_ wave of emotions taking over her, whether she likes it or not, whether she admits it loudly or not.

“I’m sorry.” Steve whispers, and he really is. He did this wrong. Things escalated too quickly and instead of dealing with it, attempting to mellow it and extinguish it, he had only made it worse. He releases a shaky breath, pursing his lips together as he watches Natasha sob, her shoulders slumped and shaking, her face buried in her hands as she attempts to wipe the continuously flowing tears with her hands. He closes his eyes momentarily, ducking his head as he feels his heart breaking at hearing her soft sobs and whimper. He never  _ wanted _ it to escalate to this, never _ meant _ to hurt her, never meant to say things that would break her, but he did.

And she’s right. It’s on him—perhaps on  _ both _ of them.

Steve takes a tentative step towards her, releasing a shaky breath as he lifts his head to look at her, but she was just  _ too _ destroyed, reduced to a shaking and sobbing mess, to perhaps even notice his movements. And despite the situation, despite the circumstances both of them are in, both of them put  _ themselves _ in, he wants to hold her, put her back together in the best way  _ he _ could but he doesn’t know if he  _ can, _ especially because he knows _he's_ the reason why she had been reduced to this.  Nonetheless, he takes another step towards her, and then another, until he lays a tentative hand on her arm, and upon contact, she only sobs harder, but she doesn’t back away, instead even leaning more towards his touch. She doesn’t back off as she only leans forward so he could catch her, so he could hold her, and he does.

For the first time in three years, he holds her, and pulls her closer to his chest as she sobs against his chest, her one hand balling into a fist as she gathers the collar of his scrubs to pull him close to her as if anchoring her and putting her in place. He wraps his arms around her body, one arm secured around her small waist, and the other hand resting on the back of her head gently as he hesitantly stroked her hair, in an instinctive way that he only does to calm her down whenever she’s upset. He closes her eyes and rests his cheek on the side of her head, enveloping her completely in his body as if securing her and protecting her from those that could hurt her.

“I’m sorry.” he whispers, his voice cracking, because though he is _trying_ to protect her from those that can harm her with his embrace, he knows that he’s one of them. He knows that he’s the  _ first _ one of those that could hurt her, and he already had.

Natasha sniffles and releases a shaky breath, only burrowing her face further in his chest as she whimpers. “Me too.” she sobs quietly against his chest, holding on to him even tighter, and he lets her do so.

It’s odd, now that they think about it—how the moments both of them would spend in the tense yet raging silence, anticipating the worst from the other despite the love they once shared seem to stretch longer, seem to stand out  _ more _ for the both of them, instead of those moments they had spent in each other’s arms, in each other’s warm love and company, despite the fact that once upon a time, those moments had been longer and more important. It’s odd how the words they said blaming the other, putting both false and truthful, but nonetheless  _ hurtful, _ faults on the other, seem to echo louder and longer instead of those words they had uttered in moments of high love and warm compassion, despite the fact that once upon a time, all the words they ever knew to say to the other were only words of love.

Where were they? Those people who valued the quiet and loving moments, those people who had nothing to say but “I’m sorrys” and “I love yous”? Where were they? The man who was once a happy and lovestruck attending who only had eyes for one beautiful talented redhead under his wing, and the woman who was once happily in love and who had nothing less than pure admiration and compassion for one blonde attending whom she once saw as bright and brilliant? Where had they gone in the last couple of years? What had gone wrong? Where were  _ they _ in the two of them? Where were they in these two people enveloped in each other’s arms, letting the icy cold wave of regret wash over them in this short and quiet moment, letting it bind them together even for just a short while. Even for just  _ this _ short while.

But like all moments, it eventually ends. And unlike moments of tense and raging silence, this moment is cut short— _ too _ short for both of their liking, yet already _too_ long for them to ever call it appropriate given everything, especially for  _ her, _ who is the first to pull away, refusing to look up and meet his eyes, but also refusing to let go of her grip on his side as she sniffles, using one hand to wipe away the tears in her eyes.

Steve purses his lips, looking down sadly at her, even as she refuses to meet his eyes, and he lifts a hand to wipe away gently the tears staining her cheeks. She lets out a sigh, closing her eyes at his touch, and even as she fights hard against leaning towards him, she does so even in the most minute movements she could allow herself to do. She sighs, opening her eyes as she hangs her head low and shakes it.

“I was gonna tell you,” she says quietly, and she sighs as she lifts her head to look at him and meet his eyes, and his heart aches at seeing her wide, red-rimmed and glassy eyes. “In that phone call, when you called before you left, I was gonna tell you.” she says, her voice breaking as another fresh wave of tears fill her eyes. She purses her lips and scrunches her face. “But you didn’t let me.” She takes a shaky breath as more tears spill from her eyes. “Y-you didn’t...you left.”

And even as he already knows it, even as he had already figured it out along the way, between the lines of their painfully messy conversation, he nonetheless feels the nausea swirling in his stomach, his head swimming in half-formed regret as his heart beats painfully fast and loud against his chest.

“I’m sorry.” he says quietly, because it’s all he could say. And he  _ wishes _ there could be anything else he could say more, but saying more seems foolish, even futile at this point, so he settles with  _ that, _ and just wishes in vain that she would know and understand deeply how sorry he really is, how, if he could turn back time and take back what he said and what he did, he would in a heartbeat.

But she doesn’t say anything, and he watches as her eyes flicker from his eyes to land momentarily on his lips, then down on his chest, where she slides the hand gripping on his collar to lay it flat over his heart beating against his chest. She purses her lips and hangs her head low, pulling herself away from him completely even as she feels like doing otherwise. She shivers lightly, feeling a cold wind rush between them, especially at the lack of the other’s warmth. Steve rests his hands on his sides, aching to reach out and just hold her once again, even just for another moment, but when she turns to face her locker, he looks away and sighs defeatedly.

And they’re back to the tense silence, the _heavy,_ tense silence mixed in with the feelings of regret and confusion and guilt, with both of them unable to think of what to do next, what to _say_ next, with him just standing in the middle of the lounge as she quietly gathers her things quickly in her locker, relenting to just go home in scrubs and change clothes once there before she would cuddle with Sarah for the night, because she  _ needs _ to get away as quickly as she can—away from this room, away from  _ him, _ away from the suffocating air enveloping both of them right now. She closes her locker, putting her jacket on top of her scrubs as she slings her bag over her shoulder, and she pauses, her eyes staring at her closed locker as she releases a shaky breath. She licks her bottom lip and turns, looking up to meet Steve’s eyes that are looking right at her.

“Does she know?” he asks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, his voice even barely reaching her ears. He swallows down his throat as he takes a shaky breath. “About me? D-does...does she know?” he asks, a little louder this time that she can hear him clearly, and she sighs, looking away as she tucks her hands in the pockets of her jacket.

He’s not at all sure if it was right of him to ask, if he  _ ever _ had the right to ask, so he doesn’t hope for anything much. Natasha just purses her lips and clenches her jaw, releasing a slow breath before looking back to meet his eyes. She tilts her head slightly on the side and swallows down her throat. “Good night, Steve.” she says quietly.

Steve sighs, giving her a small nod as he hangs his head low, and Natasha bites her bottom lip, ducking her head as she walks past him and outside of the lounge. She trains her eyes on her feet, watching as they move, as if by themselves, automatically along the lobby of the surgical floor, and into the elevators. She presses the button down, and upon the elevator door opening, she lifts her head and walks in, pressing the button on the ground floor, and hoping and  _ praying _ that she would be the only one in the elevator tonight, and eventually thanking the universe for  _ once _ because when the doors closed, she is the only one in there.

And she supposes that with every good side in a situation, however mundane it may be, there’s always a bad side as well. In her lone ride in the elevator, as she stares up at the changing floor numbers above the doors, there, in the silence and her lone presence, she feels the remnants of the heartache from today still ringing inside of her, the heartache that left her dry so no more tears would come, leaving her insides raw, her walls broken down to dust, allowing a cold, shivering wind blowing right through her skin and freezing every inch of her body. Though as far as she could tell, she hadn’t consumed any food or snack from today, her appetite had nonetheless dwindled to nothing, and all she wants to do is just  _ fall, _ and crash and just…

Just crash and crumble like how  _ he _ had crashed and crumbled her walls down.

And she moves almost too mechanically as well, as if she is floating and out of her body, as she steps out of the elevator, walks to her usual parking spot where her car is, as she opens the door, enters and turns the engine on, as she pulls out of her parking space and into the busy streets of Manhattan, as her body navigates her to drive herself down to the streets, turning to  _ this _ corner and that, staying in  _ this _ lane and that, stopping in front of  _ this _ stoplight and that, until she finally pulls into the curb in front of her apartment building. Even then, her movements still feel so outside of her, even if she’s conscious of what she is doing. The way she grabs her bag and steps out of her car and locks it, the way she trudges up the steps of the building to the elevator, and into the hall until her apartment, all movements done so mechanically and automatically that she feels like even if she wills herself to stop, she couldn’t.

And she’s too tired to even think of stopping, anyway, too tired to even  _ think _ at all.

She pushes the door open, sighing as she steps in her apartment—seemingly empty at first, until Yelena emerges from the hall of the bedrooms. Natasha gives her sister a small smile, closing the door behind her as she puts her bag down on the couch.

“You’re home... _ not _ early,” Yelena says, looking at her watch before meeting Natasha’s eyes again. She squints, as if inspecting her sister as Natasha ducks her head. “You look beat.”

“Long day.”  _ An understatement, _ but it works.

“You look like  _ shit.” _

“Well  _ good, _ ‘cause the universe has been treating me like so,” Natasha responds, lifting her head to meet her sister’s eyes as she sighs, taking her jacket off as Yelena watches her carefully. “Might as well look the part, am I right?”

Yelena frowns slightly, furrowing her eyebrows as she watches her sister hang her jacket on the coat hanger and she releases a breath. “She’s playing in her room. Well,  _ we _ were playing, but the door opened and stuff and I told her to stay put or something,” Yelena says, and Natasha nods. Yelena looks at her scrubs. “Just...go change, and I’ll...I’ll be on my way?” she says it almost tentatively, and Natasha pauses to look at her sister who is looking at  _ her _ expectedly, as if imploring if she  _ should _ leave right away to leave  _ her _ alone. It’s something she would do when she knows Natasha is upset, so Yelena is basically asking her sister if  _ she’s _ upset, and if she would rather be alone with Sarah. And Natasha respects her sister for that, but at some point, she did promise her sister to tell  _ her _ if things are upsetting her so...

“He knows,” Natasha says quietly, and Yelena furrows her eyebrows in confusion. Natasha purses her lips and sighs as she looks down at her feet. “Steve knows...about Sarah.” she clarifies quietly.

Yelena’s eyes widen incredulously, and she blinks several times. “You told him?” she asks in a hushed voice, and Natasha sighs and shakes her head. “Well, how did he know?”

“I just…” she trails off and shakes her head, looking away and pursing her lips tightly. This “opening-up-whenever-something-is-wrong” thing, how does this even  _ work? _ Especially in moments like  _ these _ when it’s something she really doesn’t  _ want _ to revisit nor talk about just yet? She runs her hand through her hair, and Yelena sighs, shaking her head as she takes a few steps towards her sister.

“Well, you don’t...you don’t have to tell me  _ now,” _ Yelena says, and Natasha nods, but stays silent as she looks down at her feet. Yelena licks her bottom lip and purses it together.  _ But she should, soon. _ “Look, I...why don’t you go change? Sarah’s eaten and washed up and all, and she’s just waiting for you.” Natasha lifts her eyes to look at her sister and she nods, releasing a breath.

“Okay.” she responds softly, and Yelena nods, stepping aside to let Natasha walk over to her room, and Yelena follows shortly behind to go into Sarah’s room. Once closing the door behind her, she vaguely hears Sarah squealing and cheering how her Mommy is already home, as she strips off of her scrubs, until she is down to only her underwear.

And she closes her eyes, and she allows herself in  _ that _ moment, to feel a tingling sensation on her skin, remembering where he had wrapped his arms around her, when for a moment she allowed herself to be vulnerable and safe, enveloped in his arms. She marvels at how, after  _ all _ these years, and all the things they had been through, he still manages to make her feel  _ that _ way, even when moments prior to  _ that, _ they were only just arguing and shouting and shooting hurtful accusations at each other. After all these years, after all the words were exchanged and all the things they had been through, she still  _ missed _ being held in his arms, missed the feel of his heartbeat against her palm, missed the feel of his fingers brushing through her hair…

Natasha opens her eyes and sighs. It’s twisted, and it doesn’t make sense—the way she misses him even if he had hurt her, even if  _ she _ had hurt him. She shakes her head, opens her closet to put on a shirt and a pair of sweatpants as she sighs, and putting a smile on her face, she leaves her room, her smile widening, and her heart melting when she hears Sarah giggle, the toddler running over to her mother’s direction as Natasha crouches down to catch the girl in her arms, enveloping her in a tight embrace as she strokes her hair lovingly.

The same way he did, the same way he  _ used _ to do with her.

And Sarah clings to her like she always does whenever Natasha would come home when she would go to work without Sarah, even as Yelena says her goodbyes, giving the girl a kiss, and giving her sister a pointed look as if telling her that she  _ will _ have to know about everything soon.

Upon her Auntie Lena’s departure, Sarah lifts her head from Natasha’s shoulder, as Natasha presses a soft kiss on the girl’s rosy cheeks. “Mommy, sleepy?” Sarah asks in a small voice and Natasha hums, pressing another light kiss on the tip of her nose.

“Yeah, baby, time for bedtime,” she replies softly, tugging down Sarah’s small pajama shirt as the toddler hums and smiles widely, wiggling her arms and legs as Natasha chuckles, and walks back to her bedroom, pressing her lips on the side of Sarah’s head. “And we won’t be waking early tomorrow, you know why?” she asks, and Sarah tilts her head to the side in question.

“Why?” she asks softly, and Natasha smiles.

“‘Cause Mommy doesn’t have work,” she answers, and Sarah gasps lightly in delight, her mouth turning into a wide grin. “Which  _ means?” _ she prompts, and Sarah bounces in her mother’s arms.

“More snuggles! More snuggles!” Sarah cheers, and Natasha laughs, nodding as she pulls her daughter closer to her, pressing yet another kiss on her head as she closes the bedroom door behind her. Sarah wiggles her arms and legs, and Natasha puts her down on the bed, where the toddler crawls over in the middle, bouncing in anticipation as Natasha walks over to one side of the bed, turning the lamp on her nightstand on, and closing the ceiling light above them. Sarah hums and snuggles further to her mother’s chest as Natasha lies her head on the pillow and pulls the toddler close, draping the comforter over the two of them as she presses a soft kiss on her forehead.

“Mommy, story.” Sarah prompts, and Natasha chuckles, stroking her daughter’s hair gently as she hums and nods.

“What do you want for tonight, baby?” Natasha asks softly. “D’you wanna hear about one of Mommy’s patient who’s a little girl just like you?” She knows it’s  _ odd, _ but given her profession, she really has not much stories left to say but toned-down versions of operations and some other mundane things that her toddler might find interesting. And since Sarah is not much for princesses and fairytales, she then relents to just telling her bits and pieces of her life ever since Sarah had been very little, as part of their bedtime routine to lull her baby to sleep.

“No,” Sarah giggles, as if her mother’s suggestion had been the  _ most _ ridiculous suggestion she had ever heard as she scrunches her cute little nose. “Tell story ‘bout Steve.” she says lightly.

And Natasha’s heart sinks, her smile faltering as she does her best to hide how tense she had been at her daughter’s suggestion.  _ Does she know? _ he had asked earlier.  _ About me, does she know? _ Of course she does. Of course, even if he had hurt her, even if he had left, he never really did—not when a part of him lives in Sarah, not when a part of him is still alive in her heart no matter how many times she tried over and over again to kill the memory of him in her heart, and not when she had still hoped he would come back even after Sarah was born, even _after_ she had recovered from her TOF, despite her refusing to admit it out loud, despite her refusing to admit it even to herself.

“I haven’t heard you wanna hear a story about him in a long time,” she says softly, and Sarah hums and shrugs, and Natasha chuckles quietly. “You sure you don’t want another story? Mommy’s got a lot especially with one little patient girl.” she says, but Sarah shakes her head.

“Wanna hear ‘bout how you and Steve meet.” she requests, and Natasha, despite herself, can’t help a smile as she laughs softly.

_ “Again?” _ she asks, and Sarah giggles, nodding as she snuggles herself further in her mother’s embrace, and Natasha smiles, looking down at her daughter’s beautiful face, and for a moment, as she allows herself to see  _ him _ in her, like how she had seen  _ him _ in her even when she was born, even when she had first held her in her arms after she had given birth. Even when he wasn’t there, she had somehow felt like he was through Sarah, through their little girl, and while it had been wildly painful, even until today that she would still see bits of him in her, it was also oddly comforting even if it would just be by a  _ little, _ that she got the good parts of him, the parts that she  _ loved _ about him—his light-colored blonde hair, the slope of his nose, his massive love for Disney, his wit, his artistic preferences and love for the arts, and most of all, his heart, that of which she had fallen in love for most of all when it came to him.

Even now as it is still painful,  _ especially _ now that he knows about her and neither of them seemingly knew how they would go about from there, she still smiles and nods at the little girl who is a combined reflection of the good parts of him and her. “Okay,” she says softly, and Sarah smiles widely up at her mother. “Okay, snuggle close.” she tells her daughter as she pulls the toddler close, and as she does so, she allows her mind to drift away from here, and back to the hospital  _ years _ and years back when they first met. Even as she recounted the story too many times in the past for Sarah, she still allows her mind to drift and remember, think back to  _ that _ moment as if it’s her first time saying it, as if it would be her first time to tell the story.

She allows herself to relive it nonetheless, as she thinks back to the four walls of SHIELD New York Hospital.

And concurrently, in the same four walls of the hospital, as Natasha is revelling in the comforts of her home with her daughter— _ their _ daughter snuggled close to her, Steve is left sitting on the benches in front of the lockers inside the attendings’ lounge, his head reeling, his mind racing, unable to stop from thinking, reciting and telling himself that he  _ has _ a daughter. That he is a father. He is a father to  _ his _ and Natasha’s child—a little girl born on the fifth of December in 2017. She’d be three in seven months. He’s a father to a three-year-old little girl whom he imagines to be a beautiful little girl, maybe perhaps with Natasha’s eyes and his hair, or maybe  _ her _ hair and his eyes. He imagines her to be beautiful either way—a little girl who has the best of both of them, a little girl created from the love they had shared, a little girl named after his mother— _ her _ wonderful grandmother. She would’ve loved her all the same.

It feels weird to say, and it’s weird to admit it, but even as he hadn’t met her, even if he knows  _ she _ doesn’t know of him, he already loves her. And it’s odd in every sense, but he figures that perhaps this is what fathers feel like, even if he had been the kind of father who had left even before he got the chance to know about her.

Even if he had been the kind of father who had willingly got up and left the mother who carried her and bore her.

Steve closes his eyes, propping his elbows up on his knees and burying his face in his hands. He had come here in this hospital in the hopes that he could fix what he had broken when he had left Natasha, but now he gets into the realization that he has far  _ bigger _ damage to fix,  _ more _ relationships to fix and mend and start over with, and it’s a lot and  _ largely _ overwhelming, but he would do it. He  _ would _ do it. He lifts his head from his hands and takes a deep breath as he straightens himself in his seat—he’s going to fix it. He’s going to make things right, like what he had told himself prior to coming to New York. He’s going to  _ fix _ things and make it right, no matter how long it will take, no matter the things he should face.

“Steve?”

Steve turns his head and finds Sharon by the entrance of the attendings’ lounge, her hands tucked in the pockets of her white coat, her eyes narrowed slightly as if inspecting him carefully. He stands from his seat, his eyes still on hers as he raises an eyebrow in question. “Were you the last one who used the database? The computer beside the supply room?” she asks quietly, stepping in the lounge and closing the door behind her.

Steve hums and opens his locker, refolding his white coat and taking out his change of clothes and his bag. “Yeah, why?” he asks, his mind still reeling yet he forces himself to focus on the task at hand: fix his things and then go home, and…

He pauses, feeling his heart sinking, his hands turning cold as he pries his eyes away from his locker as he thinks, retracing his steps prior to following Natasha in the lounge earlier on. Sharon takes a deep breath, crossing her arms over her chest as she clenches her jaw. “There was a patient’s record that was still up,” she says quietly, and Steve feels his heart beating and pounding loudly against his chest. “I think you oughta be more careful, especially since we’re in a surgical floor where the patients and their families stay in. You know, about privacy and stuff.”

Sharon pauses, and Steve stays silent, releasing a quiet breath as he closes his eyes, furrowing his eyebrows as he shakes his head slightly. “Especially when you also ought to keep that patient’s identity private,” she continues quietly, and Steve releases a heavy breath, hanging his head low as he shuts his eyes tight. Sharon watches him, and she takes a shaky breath as she continues, “And judging by her  _ name, _ Steve, I figured she must be someone you’d rather be private about.”

Steve feels like a wave of icy cold water had just been poured on him, as he slowly lifts his head to look at Sharon. He takes a deep breath and he shakes his head slightly as Sharon just looks at him expectantly, her eyebrows furrowed slightly, her lips pursed tight and her eyes wide and glassy. She swallows down her throat as she takes a shaky breath.

“I think it’s about time you tell me why you’re back in New York, Steve,” Sharon tells him quietly. “Or much less  _ why _ you fled to Seattle in the first place. And I think  _ this _ time, you have to be honest with me now.” She pauses, pursing her lips and swallowing down her throat.  _ “Please _ be honest with me this time.” she adds, her voice barely above a whisper as she releases a shaky breath.

Steve never told her he fled, nor had he ever told her why he ended up in Seattle from New York, but Sharon is smart. She picked it up because  _ of course _ she had, and he figured she was right when she told him that he had fled. And he also figured he  _ did _ at least owe her the truth—owe her  _ this _ truth. It will hurt her, even as he never intended so in the first place, but for the second time tonight, he hopes and  _ prays _ in vain for her to understand, and for him to be able to fix yet again another mess he created. He promised to fix things, and he will, no matter how long it takes, _whatever_ it takes.

So he faces her completely, and takes a deep breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm tbh more excited to share about the next few chapters after this...so I hope you guys still stay tuned! Let me know what you think!


	11. Pity the Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hello sorry it's a little late! life has been difficult lately, but here it is and i hope you enjoy!!

Sharon has been having one _hell_ of a day.

Well, she’s been having one hell of a _couple_ of days—two, to be exact, and she honestly would want _nothing_ more than to combust, evaporate and just disappear _all_ at once right there and then, even though it doesn’t make sense and all-in-all scientifically and medically impossible—thus utterly _pitiful_ because she's a medical doctor who wishes for it to happen on her. But she figures out of _all_ the things she’s feeling, out of _all_ the things she has heard and understood (or at least _tried_ to) and taken in, the combined feeling of combusting-and-evaporating-and-disappearing all at once makes _more_ sense than everything else, even though the rest of it makes _more_ logical and scientific sense, and somehow she's just actively _not_ accepting it to be logical in her universe.

Overall, life has just been sucking a lot for her lately.

Sharon looks at her watch, sighing as she takes her surgical cap off and drags her feet to walk her to one of the on-call rooms— _her_ self-proclaimed on-call room, where she’d been staying for the last two days—reason number _one_ of why her life had been sucking as of late. She wipes one hand over her face and pushes the on-call room door open, and once there, she flops on the bed and takes her phone out, setting an alarm for six in the morning, even though it’s already _three_ and she only had three hours left to sleep before she embarks into, yet again, _another_ shift even though she barely made it out alive from the last one—even though she barely _did_ any big cases from the last one. She attributes it to heartbreak, the emotional fatigue that came in waves, gruelling, stealing appetite and sleep, one that wore her out over the past days and over the past events that unfolded. It’s why she’s tired and _so_ weary, why her life has been _sucking,_ and why there’s this heaviness inside of her that she couldn’t quite point out or explain so briefly, but it’s definitely heavy enough to somehow send her into a pending downward spiral into madness.

Though she won’t quite hold her breath on _that_ one yet, because she _does_ feel like she _will_ spiral down anytime soon.

The door to the on-call room opens, and Sharon lifts her eyes to see who had come in. “You’re _still_ here?” Bobbi Morse asks, and Sharon grunts, locking her phone and letting it slide from her chest to the bed as the trauma attending sighs, leaning against the open door frame and crossing her arms over her chest. “And here I was thinking trauma was the busiest field that won’t let a doctor go home.” she mutters, shaking her head.

“Think you got _that_ wrong," she answers. "It's neuro and cardio that usually do. Plus, I wish it’s about the surgery,” Sharon mumbles, but it’s enough for Bobbi to hear as she tilts her head to the side, narrowing her eyes at Sharon who sighs. “You ever heard about doctors moving out of apartments and living in the hospital while they look for one?” she asks, attempting to make the atmosphere light but fails in doing so, and Bobbi furrows her eyebrows.

“Thought you had an apartment already, considering you’ve been in New York for quite some time and I always see you leave to go home every after your shift,” she says, closing the door behind her and leaning her back against the door. “And considering you’re in an apparent relationship with Steve Rogers.” Bobbi adds with a shrug. “Or at least, you _were_ in an apparent relationship with him.”

 _Reason number two of why Sharon Carter’s life had been sucking as of late._ "So you've heard," Sharon sits up on the bed and rests her back on the wall as she frowns slightly, and Bobbi hums. “Apparent relationship?” she repeats, and Bobbi shrugs.

“You know how hospitals are I’m sure, _lots_ of rumors circulating here and there,” she responds almost nonchalantly Sharon narrows her eyes at her, unable to gauge what the trauma surgeon is trying to say. “Lots of versions of the truth to pick out and believe in, and even so you wouldn’t be so sure if the one you picked was the truth.”

“And which one did you believe in?” Sharon asks, tilting her head to the side as if challenging the trauma surgeon. “Out of the things you’ve heard, which one did you pick and choose to believe in?”

Bobbi smirks and shrugs, crossing her arms over her chest. “I chose to believe the one you verbally told Nat, as _that_ seemed to be the only credible thing to believe in since it came from _you_ yourself. And also, I was within earshot when you told her Steve Rogers was your boyfriend,” she answers, and Sharon sighs and looks away as if in shame. Bobbi narrows her eyes slightly at her, scrutinizing Sharon as she tilts her head to the side. “It was also the only thing I’d want to believe in, since the rest of it were bad enough to hear or even _believe_ in in the first place.”

Sharon huffs out a chuckle and shakes her head. “And it turns out the _bad_ ones were the truth, and the one I told Nat was the lie,” she says quietly, lifting her eyes to meet Bobbi’s eyes as the trauma surgeon tips her chin slightly in agreement, humming softly. “The ugly ones you hear around this hospital, the ones you refused to believe in—those were it, _those_ were the things you should’ve believed in.”

“Have you heard of the bad ones they say about you?” Bobbi asks, and Sharon hums. She’s heard them all, with the two days she’d spent in the hospital without going home to her shared apartment with Steve, she’s _heard_ everything.

“Only the ones where they say we didn’t really have a relationship and that we were just friends with benefits— _fucking,_ as they would like to put it into,” she says, and Bobbi just watches her. “But I think that's all there was. 'Sides, that was the truth anyways, and I knew that.”

“Then what was your deal when you told Nat the lie?” Bobbi asks, and Sharon feels her chest constrict and her heart ache. It’s not that the woman was accusing her of something, really, since it _seemed_ more like the woman was clarifying things by the tone of her voice—the neutrality in her tone and her facial expressions, and more so, the _look_ of curiosity she has when she asked her the question. “You knew it was a lie, _knew_ you weren’t what you were telling others to be, why did you still do it?” she asks.

Sharon takes a deep breath and licks her bottom lip, once again feeling her mind cycling through her emotions faster than she had ever experienced in her life before. And considering she'd been having her lack of fair share of sleep already, she feels as if _this_ time, she would might as well let the sadness and pain rush to the fore and admit the _one_ thing she could never admit out loud.

 _Because I’m in love with him,_ she thinks as if answering Bobbi’s question, closing her eyes and releasing a slow breath in an attempt to ease the constricting in her chest and the pain in her heart. _I’m in love with him, and the truth is he wasn’t, and I liked believing that he did._ Because the truth, the reality of life, hurts. So people lie, people like _her_ lie to everyone, but most especially to herself. She lies in the hopes to fulfill the hopes she has, even though these hopes were made in vain, even though these hopes were shots in the dark. And she opens her eyes as the corners of her eyes begin to sting. That was the thing—she _assumed_ based on _nothing,_ hoped in vain he would love her back if she would only claim him as hers, and in the end the joke fell on her.

She feels guilty, but more so, she feels like a _fool_ for even doing so in the first place—all the hoping and the lying, both to _herself_ and to those who have believed in the lies she had said, and she feels so _embarrassed_ more so now that she knows the _whole_ truth of it, and she had been one who tried to twist it and turn it into something else.

Bobbi watches as Sharon thinks, and she purses her lips together tightly and sighs, hanging her head low as she walks over to the bed and sits on the edge of it. Sharon looks back at her and Bobbi sighs and crosses her legs, letting her back rest on the railings by the foot of the bed. Bobbi waits for the woman to answer her, and she waits so patiently. She’s not really expecting much from Sharon, not really expecting her to tell _her,_ of all people, the full truth of everything, but she _does_ figure she needs a friend, someone to tell these things to, considering she _had_ indeed been seeing Sharon in the same on-call room for the past couple of days.

And besides, biases of siding and rooting for Natasha aside, Bobbi was just beginning to like Sharon’s work style and ethics. She would _hate_ to see another good doctor like her go from the hospital just because of personal matters that went out of control, especially if it’s about a _man._

 _God,_ Bobbi thinks inwardly and disgustingly. _Men and their uncontrolled libido._

Sharon licks her bottom lip and purses it, taking a deep breath as she recounts what Steve had told her two days ago. “Steve didn’t know they had a kid,” she starts quietly, and Bobbi nods. “She didn’t tell him. Or she didn’t really get the chance to because when...well, _he_ said that she said when he left, that was when she found out.” Sharon furrows her eyebrows and frowns slightly. “He only got to know because she told him about her indirectly, since the kid reminded her of our patient— _current_ patient who also has CHD.”

“TOF too?” Bobbi asks, and Sharon shakes her head.

“HLHS, but it’s...it’s all the same,” Sharon says, and Bobbi hums and nods. “He found out ‘cause he searched for the kid, and he told me it was so he could understand her better, where she was coming from, _why_ it had affected her so much when the kid’s case, from how Nat told him, wasn’t really that rare or special. He found the kid, and she saw him looking for it.”

Sharon sighs and runs her fingers through her hair as she shakes her head and swallows down her throat. “I asked him why he searched for the patient, _why_ he wanted to understand her and where she was coming from, _why_ he was bothered she got so upset by it,” she continues, and she shakes her head. “I mean, it was obvious, of course, but…” she trails off and bites her bottom lip. “I wanted to hear him say it. I wanted to hear it coming from _him.”_

Sharon pauses and Bobbi nods slowly, realizing what Sharon couldn’t probably admit out loud, what Steve had probably told her that prompted Sharon to live in the hospital for the past two days, what probably broke Sharon’s heart. “And then he said it,” Sharon continues, her voice breaking as tears started to fill her eyes. She swallows down her throat and clears it as she takes a shaky breath. “He told me why he came back to New York.”

_“I told you I wanted to go back to New York so I can mend old wounds and fix things—especially those that I broke, and my relationship with Nat was one of them, Nat’s heart was one of those that I broke, one of those that I hurt and I wanted to go back to fix it.”_

A tear slides off Sharon’s eyes as she wipes it off quickly with the back of her hand and she sniffles, feeling utterly _pathetic_ for crying, yet still somehow feeling validated that she had the right to do so. “And I was the fool that followed him, you know. I followed him hoping it would make things better for us, that _I_ could make it move forward, you know, make _us_ a thing, make _us_ official,” she continues, sniffling, as Bobbi just looks down at her hands. “But in the end, I was just the girl who had fallen in love with _this_ man who’s still in love with someone else.”

And honestly—how does _that_ even work? Because it’s not like girls who fall for _those_ kinds of traps plan to fall for them in the first place, right? Nobody does, most especially not _her._ She never saw it coming, never saw his “unreadiness to be in a relationship” to be in the form of an unresolved and unfinished love story with a great love in New York. The jealousy and the insecurity were there with her, _had_ been there since the moment she realized she was falling in love with the man she agreed to _just_ sleep with at the beginning, but it would eventually fade once he would catch her eyes whenever she would stare, and they would come together on evenings. She never expected that this unreadiness, and the roots of all her jealousy and insecurity was a woman Sharon _knew_ and once adored especially back in their younger days, all because she never even _knew_ in the first place that she had once upon a time been a huge part of his life, and continues to _be_ a huge part of his life even until now— _especially_ now, now that he knows the love they had had been greater than he had ever expected, that the love they shared had created something so wonderful.

She so badly wants to pin the blame on someone, so badly wants to pin the blame on _her,_ and while it doesn’t make sense, while it doesn’t _sound_ logical or sensible because it's not like she ever really _did_ have a fault against Sharon, it’s all because _she_ never told Sharon the truth of her past and the truth of her story. _She_ allowed her to say things that are lies, allowed her to believe in this fantasy that’s untrue and forever will stay as such—a fantasy all in her head. So she's mad. She's mad at _her._

It's _that,_ or she just feels _really,_ really lost. And it's probably more of the latter.

“I felt like a fool who fell into a booby trap, you know,” Sharon says, her eyes lifting back to meet Bobbi’s as she too looks up at Sharon. “And now I don’t know what to do, or where to go.” She pauses and clenches her jaw as she looks away. “Because everything I thought was real, it isn’t. Everything I hoped for to happen, it didn’t. And now I’m just...lost, you know?” She looks back at Bobbi as she shakes her head and shrugs. “I don’t know what to do.”

Bobbi tips her chin upwards slightly, the corner of her mouth quirking slightly upward. “Well, first thing’s first is that you find a new apartment around Manhattan,” she says, and Sharon huffs out a chuckle as she shakes her head, and Bobbi smiles. “You can call him whatever names you can think of for breaking your heart, or for letting you hope for things that wouldn’t happen either way. You can wallow in the pain, feel it until the rest of the world fades away and it’s all you can think about—but how you manage it is up to you. Ride it out, embrace it, ignore it, sleep with another man, I don’t know.” Bobbi says, and the corner of Sharon’s mouth slightly quirks upwards. “But don’t let what he did to you eclipse the potential you have for your personal self-growth, and I can see a lot of that in you, Carter. I’m sure I’m not the only one who does.”

She isn’t. There’s _another_ one who saw the best in her, one who had encouraged her all throughout medical school, especially when she told her that she had both talent and heart—two things people say a doctor should have to be considered as the best. But she doesn't think of that, she doesn't think of _her._

“Thanks, Morse.” Sharon says quietly, and Bobbi smiles and nods, getting up from Sharon’s bed to move to another spare and empty one inside the on-call room, as Sharon settles and lies back down on the bed, turning to face the wall as she sighs.

 _Wallow in the pain, feel it until the rest of the world fades away._ Sharon closes her eyes, allowing the emotional and physical fatigue of the last two days wash over her and consume her. She prays and _hopes_ that when she wakes up everything will go away, that when she wakes up, everything will be okay, that _she_ will be okay, that things will just go back to normal and the things she knew, the things she’d been told will all be false. But then again, she had been hoping for a lot of things to happen lately but they never really actually do, they never actually do come true no matter how hard she hopes and how hard she wishes.

They never _usually_ do, but she still hopes anyway.

“Mommy, sleepy.” Sarah groans as she wraps her arms around her mother’s neck tightly, burying her face further in the crook of Natasha’s neck as Natasha sighs, adjusting her daughter on her hip as she locks the car and slings her bag on her shoulder.

“I know, sweetie, I’m sorry,” Natasha says, pressing a kiss on Sarah’s hair, adjusting her small jacket around her body as she starts walking towards the hospital main entrance. She huffs out a breath as she reaches for her I.D. card inside her bag to scan in the doctors’ entrance, and puts it in her pocket once she enters the lobby. “I’ll make it up to you with lots of snuggles, okay? _Lots_ and lots of them, I promise.”

Sarah groans sleepily as Natasha reaches the elevators, stopping as she presses the up button before she rubs her hand on her daughter’s back, pressing light kisses on her head. “Just take a nap once we get to daycare, alright? I promise Mommy will be there to eat snackies with you.” she says.

She steps into the empty elevator and presses the button to daycare as the doors close and Natasha wraps her arms around her toddler tightly. She needed to be in the hospital an hour earlier than usual since Clint had called her last night if she could make it for an early morning surgery on his forty-year-old pregnant pancreatic cancer patient, but whose tumor had spread and metastasized to her spine, thus compressing it and causing her so much pain. The patient’s oncologist had recommended _her_ to be one of the consulting doctors in the case, and since Clint had agreed since the case is within her range of specialization, she had no choice but to _also_ take the case. And since Yelena is out and about with some college friends in the Hamptons and therefore unable to babysit, she had no choice but to take Sarah with her even in her early morning stint.

Sarah lifts her head as she looks at her mother sleepily, and Natasha smiles at her daughter. “Promise snackies?” she asks and Natasha hums, pressing a small kiss on her daughter’s nose.

“I promise, after Mommy’s patient, okay?” she asks, and Sarah hums, giving her mother a smile before she rests her head again on her shoulder as Natasha rubs her back once again, looking up at the floor number in the elevator.

After dropping Sarah off in daycare, and making sure her little girl is back to sleep and comfortable, she goes back to the elevator and presses the number to the surgical floor. She takes her phone, shoots Clint a text telling him she’s already in the hospital and to wait for her by the nurse’s station in twenty minutes, giving her time to change into her scrubs and maybe help herself with a mug of coffee. The elevator doors open to the surgical floor, and she adjusts her bag, putting her phone inside as she walks over to the lounge, smiling at the nurses and residents whom she passes by until she reaches the lounge.

She pushes the door open, and finds Sharon by the coffee counter. She looks up when the lounge door opens, her heart dropping and beating fast against her chest at seeing Natasha entering at _this_ hour of the morning—at _this_ hour where she just woke up and still feels _so_ tired and heartbroken, especially as this is the _first_ time Sharon is seeing her after the entire revelation. Natasha, meanwhile, falters in her tracks for a moment, her own heart skipping a beat at seeing Sharon inside the lounge, as she nods and gives her a small smile. “Good morning.” she greets softly, walking over to the lockers as Sharon swallows down her throat and nods.

“You’re early today,” Sharon says quietly, putting her mug down as she turns to face Natasha who opens her locker and puts her bag in, taking her fresh scrubs out as she sits down on the bench and hums in acknowledgment to Sharon. “I mean...earlier than regular shifts.” she clarifies.

“Clint called me in for a case. Forty-year-old pancreatic cancer patient, thirty-four weeks pregnant. MRI scans came in when she complained of back pain, and apparently, her cancer spread to her spine,” she explains, removing her shoes and wearing her sneakers as she stands up and removes her top and pants to change into her scrubs. Sharon looks away for a moment and sighs. “I’ll come in after Clint delivers the C-section, that is hoping they’d agreed upon it already.”

Sharon hums, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s gonna be a preemie baby.” she points out, and Natasha nods as she turns to face Sharon.

“He’ll be fine, I’m sure. Clint’s delivered smaller babies,” she says, putting her coat on and smoothing it down as Sharon just watches her. Natasha nods over to her. “You had a double shift?” she asks.

Sharon clenches her jaw and swallows down the bile rising in her throat. “Yeah,” she answers quietly. “Here for my regular shift now.”

Natasha takes her pens from her bag as she turns to look and regard Sharon, who is looking _horribly_ disheveled with her messy bun, dark circles under her eyes and pale complexion, as if she had just woken up from a nap in the on-call room and she needs to make herself up badly. But she doesn't point it out. “Early surgery too?” she asks, and Sharon shakes her head as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“Maybe small cases, but nothing big today,” she responds and Natasha nods, tucking her hands in her coat pockets. She huffs out a small chuckle and shakes her head. “It’s gonna be a hell of a boring day, I suppose.”

Natasha smiles and shrugs. “Maybe, or it can be a rest day for you after a tiring double shift?” she suggests lightly.

And Sharon’s stomach drops as she nods and gives her a small smile. It’s so _hard_ to get mad at her, so _difficult_ to hate her because it’s not like the woman had any ounce of bad bone in her body, especially not towards _her._ And she so _badly_ wants to hate her, dislike her and pin the blame of her heartbreak, her fallen and failed expectations on _her,_ but it’s so _hard,_ mostly because she has always been good. But mostly it’s because it’s so _illogical_ to pin the blame on her when it’s not her fault anyway, when the person she _should_ be blaming is the person she doesn’t _want_ to blame.

“I have to head out,” Natasha says, giving Sharon a smile. “Clint might be waiting for me in the nurse’s station.”

Sharon closes her eyes and hangs her head low as Natasha walks over to the door, and just as her hand touches the doorknob, Sharon speaks out. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks, and Natasha pauses, turning her head to look over at Sharon who lifts her eyes to look at Natasha. She blinks several times in confusion, furrowing her eyebrows as she tilts her head slightly to the side.

“Tell you what?” she asks in confusion, and Sharon huffs out a bitter laugh as she shakes her head, and Natasha frowns in confusion because _what_ exactly is she talking about? What didn’t she tell her?

Sharon feels her heart beating and pounding fast inside her chest, her throat running dry and her palms turning cold and sweaty as she squeezes her arms, her fingernails digging on the skin of her arms as she pulls her arms over her chest. She purses her lips and takes a deep breath as Natasha furrows her eyebrows, waiting for her response, but as she opens her mouth to respond and say something, nothing comes out. She feels the soft panic rising inside of her growing and gnawing her inside, unsure of what to say, if she should _even_ say what that is on the tip of her tongue, and she takes a deep breath—letting the panic inside her rise and fade with her breaths, forcing herself to sort through her thoughts, letting herself _will_ for her emotions to ebb, and her thoughts appear clearer.

But alas, this is it, and she figures there’s no use in turning back from what she had already started with.

“You never told me you and Steve were together, were _once_ together,” she says, and Natasha blinks, letting her hand slide off from the door knob as she faces Sharon completely, tucking her hands back inside the pockets of her coat. “And more so, you never told me you had a _kid_ together. You _have_ a kid together, Nat, you _have_ a daughter with him.”

Natasha feels her heart drop as she opens her mouth slightly, releasing a slow breath as she feels like a bucket of cold water had just been dumped on her. “Steve told you,” she says quietly. “He told you.”

“About you and the kid, yeah he did,” she says, and Natasha takes a deep breath, clenching her fists inside her coat pockets as she swallows down her throat and looks away. “You never told me you and Steve were together before he went to Seattle.”

Natasha looks back at Sharon and frowns. “I didn’t think it was relevant enough to _say_ considering one of your first words to me was you guys were together,” she responds. “And I don’t think I owed _you_ the explanation of the existence of my daughter and my past personal relationship with him, Sharon, that isn’t how you respond when somebody else says that she’s together with your _ex.”_

“But it’s one of the things you _say_ when _that_ person happens to be your friend.” Sharon says, her voice rising slightly as Natasha shakes her head and frowns.

“It’s more so _not_ how you respond especially when the person is your friend,” she corrects firmly as she takes a deep breath to calm herself down. She releases a breath and shakes her head again. “Sharon, _please,_ I don’t know why you’re so pressed on _me,_ or why you’re so mad at me about this when it doesn’t even bother _me_ anymore. I don’t want _anything_ to do with him, so I’m telling you, you can _have_ him all you want—”

“I can’t have him and that’s the problem, Nat!” Sharon exclaims in an outburst as Natasha just frowns and furrows her eyebrows. “I can’t have him because he wants _you._ Because he came back to New York for you, and now he knows you have a kid, you have _his_ kid, all the more will he want _you.”_

“And you’re mad at _me_ because of _that?”_ Natasha asks, because she needs to know, and because this _entire_ thing feels so petty and childish and she’s _very_ confused as to why she’s getting herself in an argument over a _man,_ which is honestly _such_ nineteen-year-old garbage drama, considering she’s thirty-three and is a well-respected neurosurgeon, and thought she had _left_ high school and all its petty drama more than a decade ago. “You’re really letting it out on _me,_ just because of all these things you assumed about him—”

“I didn’t assume, Nat, he _told_ me straight-up!” she exclaims.

“Then why are you mad at _me_ about it?” Natasha counters, shaking her head in utter confusion and irritation. “What are you so mad about... _why_ are you so mad about it—”

“Because I wanted it to be _me,_ Nat, but instead it’s _you_ that he loves, and it’s _you_ he wanted to be with,” Sharon responds loudly, her voice raspy and hoarse, as Natasha pauses, her heart dropping as she shakes her head, refusing to let Sharon’s words enter her head and enter her heart. “And he came back here to fix what he had broken with you, and I _wanted_ it to be _me._ I wanted _me_ to be _you_ the moment he told me he came back for _you_ because he loves _you,_ and—”

“That’s not true,” Natasha says with gritted teeth as she shakes her head. _It’s not true,_ she thinks over and over in her head. _It’s not true. This is a lie, these are all lies._ “That’s not true, Sharon—”

“And you _have_ to stop saying it’s not true, Nat, because believe me when I say there are _people_ out there who _wish_ they were on your end, being told they are loved by the people _they_ love,” Sharon tells her, the corners of her eyes stinging as her eyes fill with tears. “You _have_ to stop saying it’s not true because believe me that it _is,_ and he’s said it to my face _plenty_ of times that it just _pisses_ me off just thinking about how it’s unfair he gets to _love_ you when _I_ have been there loving him all the while—”

“Sharon, _please,_ I…” Natasha trails off, raising a hand to stop Sharon as she hangs her head low and shuts her eyes. She rests one hand on the wall as she shakes her head and sighs shakily. She lifts her head and opens her eyes to look at Sharon, and she sees a tear slide off the woman’s eyes and to her cheek. “I _don’t_ want to talk about this, I don’t want us _fighting_ about this.” Sharon huffs out a bitter laugh as she shakes her head and sniffles, looking away as she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “I don’t wanna have a fight over Steve—”

“There’s no _fight_ if he only wants _you,”_ Sharon tells her, and Natasha huffs out an exasperated breath as she runs her fingers through her hair frustratedly. “This isn’t—”

“Sharon, I don’t want _anything_ to do with him!” Natasha exclaims, interrupting whatever it is Sharon is saying as the woman pauses, blinking as her eyes widen at what Natasha says. “You know what, you want him, _take_ him because I don’t want him. I don’t want _anything_ to do with him, I don’t _love_ him.” _Lies, all_ _lies,_ but she pushes the thought down. “Make him love you, in whatever ways you can, it’s fine by me, if you want him, you _get_ him, but I am _not_ fighting you for him, Sharon, I am _not_ losing _you_ over a man. I am _unwilling_ to lose the friendship that we have over a man—over _Steve,_ because believe me when I tell you that it’s _not_ worth it. _He_ is not worth losing _our_ friendship over—”

The door to the lounge opens, and Steve comes in, his eyes wide as he hesitantly steps inside the room upon seeing both women who turn when he enters in. Natasha huffs out a breath as she shakes her head, resting both hands on her hips as she clenches her jaw and turns away from Steve and Sharon, as Sharon just looks between Steve and her, while Steve stands by door, feeling the tension inside the room, and feeling paralyzed by the fact that _this_ doesn’t look good _at all._

“You don’t believe me?” Sharon speaks up, and Natasha just wants to _snap,_ because apparently, Sharon’s not yet _done._ Sharon just looks at Natasha’s back, her eyes flickering over at Steve who is looking at Natasha, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Tell her what you told me.” Steve looks back at Sharon as he frowns in confusion. “Tell _her_ what you told me two days ago—”

“Sharon, just—” Natasha attempts to interrupt as she turns to Sharon and raises a hand to stop her.

“No, _Steve,_ you _tell_ her. You _wanted_ to tell her, right? You told me you’ve been _wanting_ tell her since you got here to New York—”

“Sharon, _please_ stop—” Steve attempts to say.

“No God, Steve, _please_ just _tell_ her!” Sharon exclaims in exasperation, shaking her head as hot tears flow down her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest as her eyes flicker between Steve and Natasha. “Tell her _exactly_ what you told me so we can _all_ move past this, so _I_ can move past this!”

Steve’s eyebrows furrow as he looks over to Natasha who refuses to look at him as she just looks away, her arms crossed over her chest as she taps her foot furiously on the floor. She purses her lips and shakes her head. “I can’t do this,” she says quietly, shaking her head. “Jesus, I _can't_ do this. I have surgery.” she mutters.

She walks past Steve and back to the hallway of the surgical floor. She takes a deep breath, shaking her head as if to knock in some bit of sense inside her head after it had been knocked off by the events that unfolded in the lounge. She shakes her hands and releases a slow breath, as if releasing all the tension, all the pent-up irritation and anger and _heartbreak_ from earlier as she does her best to lift herself up—lift her _spirits_ up and keep her mind sharp because for God’s sake she has a pending surgery. And for Christ’s sake, she’s a _surgeon,_ a doctor who is well-known in her field. How the _fuck_ did she allow herself to get involved in such petty drama like _this_ one?

_Because I wanted it to be me, Nat, but instead it’s you that he loves, and it’s you he wanted to be with._

“When you said twenty minutes, I didn’t think you’d take it _seriously,”_ Clint says, snapping Natasha out of her thoughts as soon as Natasha reaches the nurse’s station with a sigh, resting both her elbows by the counter as she nods and shrugs, unable to say anything with the amount of thoughts and emotions running through her mind. “Thought you would’ve changed much faster than _that.”_

“Ran into something,” Natasha mutters, shaking her head dismissively as she releases a slow breath. _Focus, Nat, focus._ “I’m still here on time, aren’t I?” Clint hums and shrugs, closing the records he was just filling up as he tucks it under his arm.

“You got the little princess with you?” he asks, and Natasha feels a sort of lightness wash over her at the mention of Sarah as she nods, the corners of her lips quirking upwards slightly as Clint smirks. “And she didn’t complain about how early her Mommy is at work this time?”

Natasha chuckles and shakes her head. “You know her, never one to complain about anything, but always _one_ to be very sleepy especially at wee hours,” she explains and Clint laughs softly, nodding in agreement. “When I dropped her off at daycare, she immediately went back to sleep. But I managed to bribe her by promising her snackies after this surgery.”

“Well, let’s hope you _do_ make it on time for snackies with her.” he says, and Natasha hums. Clint nods as they start walking, and he gives her the patient’s chart that she immediately opens and reviews. 

“I’m with Johnson supposedly on this, but she won’t be here ‘till the surgery, so I’ll be the one to brief you on the patient. Her name is Karen Kays, forty years old with advanced pancreatic cancer that had _now_ spread to her spine, and on top of that, she’s thirty-four weeks pregnant with a baby boy,” Natasha hums, reading on her records the things Clint is already saying. “She’d gone through a whipple the last time she was here and it removed a bulk of the tumor. While it _helped_ buy her some time, she was still terminal, and yesterday when she came in complaining about severe back pains and tingling in her limbs, May already had her MRI scans and confirmed that the tumor metastasized to her spine, compressing her spinal cord.”

“We knew this would happen, right?” Natasha asks, looking at Clint. “The cancer would spread, and the whipple wouldn’t _really_ buy her a _lot_ of time. It just accelerated things for her.”

Clint sighs and shakes his head. “We knew that, but we _hoped_ it wouldn’t happen. But it did,” he says, and Natasha sighs. “We’re giving her two to three months.”

“But we have to deliver the baby,” she says, and Clint nods. “The spinal mets won’t allow her to carry the baby in full term, do they know about that already?”

“Well,” Clint says, stopping in front of the door to one of the rooms as Natasha pauses and looks at him, closing the records in her hands. “I was hoping you can help in delivering that news with me.”

Natasha blinks and gives Clint a tight smile. “You just know how to make my mornings brighter, don’t you?” she asks sarcastically as Clint chuckles and shakes his head, resting his hand on the door knob.

“You chose the path of neuro-oncology.” he says, shrugging, and Natasha laughs, shaking her head as Clint pushes the door open, letting him and Natasha inside the room.

Natasha sees a brown-haired pregnant woman on the bed and beside her stands a man about Karen Kays’ age, whom Natasha assumes as her husband, brushing through Karen’s hair gently, and stopping when he sees the two doctors come in. “Good morning, Karen, Alex,” Clint greets, and the two nod and smile at him, their eyes flickering over to Natasha who just smiles at both of them. “This is Doctor Natasha Romanoff, our neuro-oncologist, the one Doctor May was telling you guys about when we were discussing options in surgery.”

“Doctor May said you’re one of the great ones,” Alex says, smiling widely, and Natasha chuckles softly. “Well, Doctor Barton said it too, but we figured if Doctor May says you’re great, then you’re...you’re _really_ great.”

Natasha laughs softly as she nods. “Thank you. Wow, I like this.” she says teasingly, looking over at Clint who laughs, while Alex and Karen laugh as well.

“This is Karen Kays, the patient, and her best friend, Alex Grey,” Clint says, and Natasha nods as both Karen and Alex smile at her. “Alex is also the father of the baby.”

Natasha raises her eyebrows, looking over at Clint, then back at whom she thought was a _couple,_ but they’re apparently just a couple of...best friends? “Sorry, did I hear it correctly, you’re—” she starts.

“Oh _yeah,_ yeah, sorry I forgot it’s quite unusual,” Karen says, laughing lightly as she looks up at Alex who laughs along with her. “Alex isn’t my husband.”

“Karen’s not my wife.” Alex adds.

“We’re friends, _best_ friends—have been best friends since childhood,” Karen explains, as Alex nods, and Natasha nods slowly, still surprised— _somehow,_ things still surprise her despite the things she had already seen and gone through in her life and career as a doctor—at the relationship status of her to-be patient and...the father of her child. But who was she to judge, right? “It’s a common mistake, you know, to be mistaken as wife and husband and all.”

“But we’re not.” Alex says, shaking his head.

“We’re not,” Karen says, and she winces as she rests a hand on her back. “Oh, Alex, can you please…”

“Oh, right, okay.” Alex says, adjusting the bed and elevating it in a more comfortable position as Karen’s face visibly relaxes as she rests back. _Back pains and tingling,_ it’s what she came in here for, that eventually escalated into apparent spinal mets.

“How long have you been experiencing back pain, Karen?” Natasha asks, observing as she rests back more comfortably on the bed.

“About a week or so, and it’s only ‘cause I skipped cancer treatment ‘cause I didn’t wanna _microwave_ the baby any more than necessary,” she says. “And then there were tingling in the legs and feet, but I thought it was only ‘cause of the pregnancy, you know, the numbness and swelling of the feet, but when we saw Doctor May again, she said it could mean many things.”

“Which was how they got the MRI,” Clint says, walking over to the table by the door to retrieve a brown envelope—the patient’s MRI scans—as he hands it over to Natasha who trades the envelope for the records. She takes the scans and holds it up high against the light to look at it, and she tilts her head, narrowing her eyes as she inspects the scans carefully. She observes the eclipse-shaped mets by the spine, and purses her lips together when she sees some of it had already spread near her head. “And that’s how we got _you_ on board on the case.”

“Which is good because you can fix this, right?” Alex asks, hopeful as he holds Karen’s hand. “Maybe buy us some more time? So she can carry the baby to term and give birth on time?”

Natasha peels her eyes off of the scans and looks at Clint, who looks at her as he takes a deep breath. “Oh no, it’s that look,” Karen says, looking back and forth between Natasha and Clint. “It’s that look. What is it? What is it this time?” she asks, squeezing Alex’s hand as Natasha sighs and puts the scans down as she looks back at Alex and Karen.

“Karen, we…” Natasha trails off as she releases a breath and ducks her head for a moment. She _hates_ this part, _absolutely_ hates it. “I was told you underwent a whipple procedure for the tumor in your pancreas—”

“To buy us more time,” Karen says, nodding as her eyes flicker between the two doctors. “They gave me seven or eight months, for me to carry the baby in term and for me to spend time with him.”

“But given that we’ve found mets in your spinal cord, it…it accelerates things.” Natasha explains.

“What things?” Alex asks. “Come on, it’s...it’s fine, give it to us straight.”

“I would give you two, maybe _three_ more months if you’re lucky,” Natasha says, and her heart aches when she sees the look of worry exchanged between the two best friends, as Karen visibly deflates and Alex starts to furrow his eyebrows in worry. “And given how much the cancer had already spread in your spinal cord, Karen, it would be impossible for you to carry the baby into full term, since it’s going to be more painful for you and your two months might even get cut off.”

“So we need to deliver the baby today,” Clint continues, and Natasha nods, looking over at Clint. “We need to make a c-section to deliver your baby today.”

“Today?” Karen asks, her eyes widening as she starts shaking her head. “No, no... _no,_ it’s too soon. He’s still too little.”

“He’s at thirty-four weeks, he’s...he needs more time, doesn’t he?” Alex asks, looking at Clint as he nods.

“It’s okay. I’ve delivered babies much smaller than him, so he’ll be fine, I’m telling you. I’ve seen the scans of the baby too, and he’s looking healthy with no complications,” he explains. “And the safest option we have is a c-section. So we’ll deliver the baby first, and Doctor Romanoff will be there to handle the spinal cord issues should there be complications that might arise.”

Karen sighs, shaking her head slightly as she looks up at Alex, who seems to be weighing the options carefully. “If...if we deliver today, like _you_ give birth to the baby today—” she starts.

“That’s two months with the baby,” Alex says, nodding slowly in realization as a small smile starts to break his mouth, his eyes filling with tears as he smiles widely at Karen who also starts to smile widely. “Two months of you, me, and—”

“Our son,” Karen says, nodding as Alex nods, smiling widely and laughing softly. “That’s two months as a family.”

Alex nods, leaning to press a kiss on her hair, as Karen looks up at the doctors. “We deliver today?”

“Yes,” Clint says, nodding, and Natasha smiles as she watches the two best friends. “You’ll be having your baby today.”

“Okay.” both Alex and Karen say at the same time, and they laugh softly, excited despite the pending storm that is Karen’s cancer and spinal mets. Natasha purses her lips, looking over at Clint who gives her a nod and a small smile, and she smiles as she nods back at him.

Clint asks Alex to come with him so he can sign the necessary papers for the surgery, as Natasha is left with Karen so they can start preparing for the surgery. Karen chuckles softly as Natasha walks over to her bedside to adjust her IV and lower the side rails of her bed. “He looks so excited, doesn’t he?” she asks lightly, and Natasha smiles, looking back to where Alex and Clint had walked off. “He’s excited about being a father, you know. And he has the right to, he’ll make a great dad.”

“He seems to care a lot for you too,” Natasha responds gently, and Karen chuckles, shaking her head. “He seemed to be very worried at first especially about your health and the cancer.”

“Oh, he’s just worried it might affect his baby,” she responds, and Natasha hums, shaking her head as she adjusts the bed elevation into her comfort level. Karen pauses as she looks at Natasha who stands on Karen’s other side to lower the side rails of her bed. “D’you have kids, Doctor Romanoff?” she asks softly.

Natasha looks at Karen and smiles, nodding. “I have one,” she answers softly, smiling widely, as she continues to work on adjusting the IV for Karen. “A little girl. She’ll be turning three in December.” Karen grins and hums.

“That’s the _best_ age,” she says, and Natasha laughs softly, nodding in agreement. “I can just imagine the snuggle sessions with her to be the best, am I right?”

“Oh, the _best,_ and she loves it almost as much as I do,” Natasha responds, smiling, and Karen laughs softly. Natasha adjusts Karen’s hair as she puts it inside a hair cap, and she lets Karen adjust the cap on her head. “And the snackies we share too, those are her favorite.”

Karen chuckles. “Having a toddler is wonderful, I can imagine,” she says softly, and Natasha pauses in her work as she looks at Karen who is smiling almost distantly. “How does it feel like? Being a mom?” she asks softly, her eyes flickering back to Natasha as she smiles widely.

“Wonderful, of course,” she answers, and Karen smiles. “And being a mom to my little girl it’s...it’s beyond every good thing I can imagine it to be. The things she discovers, the many firsts she’s had it’s...beyond compare.” Karen laughs softly as she hums and nods. “I mean, there’s...there’s also the fact that it’s difficult, of course but…” Natasha shakes her head as she shrugs. “Which thing in the world isn’t, right?”

Karen hums. “You’ve had help from your husband, I’m sure,” she says, and Natasha almost falters as she pauses slightly at that, looking away for a moment as she feels a faint pang in her chest at the mention of a _husband_ —some sort of help in raising her daughter. Karen’s smile fades as she sees Natasha’s reactions. “Or, I-I’m sorry, I didn’t...I didn’t mean—”

“No, Karen, it’s...it’s fine,” Natasha says, chuckling softly as she shakes her head and resumes her work as she hangs the IV bag on the bed and starts working on the IV filters and tube. “I’m uh...I’m not married. I’m a single mom.” she adds.

Karen blinks. “The baby’s dad?” she asks, and Natasha gives her a small and tight smile as she looks back at her work and blinks several times. What about the baby’s father? _Her_ baby’s father?

_Never knew about her existence until two days ago._

“We’re not together,” Natasha answers quietly. “Also not...not like you and Alex. I, uh…” she laughs quietly and shakes her head. “I think your relationship’s better than ours.”

“That bad, huh?” she asks, and Natasha hums and shrugs, putting a smile on her face as she looks at Karen who sighs. “Does your kid ever ask you about him? Since, you know...he’s not there and all?”

Natasha sighs, taping the needle end of her IV connected to the bag and her injection on the chest part of her hospital gown as she thinks and purses her lips. Just two nights ago, Sarah asked her about him—asked her if she could tell her once again of a story about Steve, and while she doesn’t know that Steve _is,_ in fact, her father, she knows he’s been a huge part of Natasha’s life, probably judging by the stories she continues to tell Sarah for bedtime. So _no,_ she doesn’t ask about him as a father per se…

“She asks to tell me stories about him,” she says softly, settling for _that_ answer instead. She gives Karen a small smile as the patient looks at Natasha with glassy eyes and a smile. “And I tell her stories. Usually it’s the good ones, she likes the story of how we met, always loved hearing it over and over again.”

Karen hums, smiling widely. “Does it hurt? Having to tell the stories to her over and over again?” she asks quietly. “Especially now that...you know, he’s not there?”

Natasha pauses, the question almost catching her off guard as she furrows her eyebrows slightly in confusion and _hurt,_ because _yes,_ it still hurts every time she would tell those stories. The stories remain as memories, memories that still hurt her, so every time she says them, every time she would open her mouth and say it out loud, it hurts, and it burns through her but she goes through with it if only to make her baby smile. But she doesn’t think it to be relevant, especially _now_ she has a patient who’s about to be a mother in just a few hours, and…

 _Oh._ Oh, God.

“Karen?” Natasha asks quietly, slowly realizing where their conversation is going, and where Karen is steering their conversation. The patient swallows down her throat as she looks up at Natasha, her eyes glassy and slowly filling with tears, but even despite it, she smiles in acknowledgment at the doctor. Natasha rests her hands on the edge of the bed as she slowly shakes her head, looking at Karen. “Karen, no, please…” she trails off, letting out a breath.

Karen smiles up at Natasha as a tear slips from her eyes and she wipes it off quickly. She chuckles softly. “Doctor May is right, you _are_ one of the brightest ones in the hospital,” she says lightly, and Natasha just shakes her head slowly, almost disbelievingly. She clenches her jaw and nods at Natasha. “Doctor, will the cancer make it harder for me to deliver?” she asks quietly.

Natasha swallows down her throat, taking a moment to choose her words carefully. “Your body is already working overtime as it is, so the surgery is an added stress,” she tells her. “But if there's any complications, we will take care of it. _That's_ what we do, _that’s_ why I’m here.” she adds, and Karen nods and she lets out a sigh.

“I want a DNR, Doctor,” she requests quietly, and Natasha sighs, pursing her lips together as Karen gives her a small smile. “I want to sign it before the surgery.”

A DNR—a _do not resuscitate_ order, for Natasha, is a sign of giving up, a sign of the loss of hope that things will turn out better, that instead of them getting better by surgery, they would die on the table. “Karen, we didn’t mean to scare you,” she says softly, shaking her head slightly. “The surgery should go smoothly, and—”

“I’m dying already, Doctor,” Karen says softly, shaking her head. “And it’s only just a matter of time before the cancer takes over me and my body. And if something happens to me during the surgery and I end up stuck on a machine…” She shakes her head as she sighs. “I don’t want to leave Alex with that. I don’t wanna leave him with _that_ burden, _that_ responsibility of having to decide for my life when he’s already a father.”

Natasha licks her bottom lip and sighs, looking up at the door to find Clint by the doorway. He pauses in his tracks when he sees the look on Natasha’s face, and Karen turns her head to find Clint by the door. She smiles at the doctor as he approaches slowly on the other side of her bed, as Natasha looks at him sadly. “I want a DNR, Doctor Barton,” she tells Clint quietly, and Clint sighs, his eyes flickering over to Natasha then back at Karen. “And please don’t tell Alex. He...he won’t understand.” she says, looking back to Natasha who purses her lips together.

Clint takes a moment but he nods, almost gravely and slowly. “We can do that,” he says quietly. “If it’s what you want, and if it’s what you wish.”

Karen nods, swallowing down her throat as she smiles. “It’s what I want.” she says quietly.

Natasha swallows down her throat and looks down as Clint nods. She listens as Clint briefs Karen of the contents and conditions of the DNR—the risks, the lowering of patient care to allow natural death and possible consequences and repercussions once she codes inside the O.R.—all of which Karen agrees to. Clint excuses himself as he requests for a nurse to retrieve him a DNR form for Karen. Clint turns back at Karen, then back at Natasha as she nods. “We’ll just wait for the form shortly, and since Doctor Romanoff has prepared you and the O.R. is almost ready, we’ll be bringing you in soon,” he explains as Karen nods, and a nurse comes by and hands Clint a clipboard with the form. Clint sighs. “And here’s the form. The terms and conditions are there, but it’s...it’s basically what I’ve told you already, the contents of it.”

Clint gives Karen the forms and a pen, and she signs her name as she flips through the pages, taking a deep breath as she nods, and handing it back to Clint. “Again, this is...this a ‘just-in-case’ document. We’re sure the surgery would go smoothly today,” he says, and Karen nods. “The delivery of the baby will be fine.” he adds, and Karen smiles.

“I know.” she responds, looking back up at Natasha who gives her a small smile.

As soon as Alex comes back and comes in, Clint nods over at Natasha who gives him a small nod. “Alright, Karen, we’ll be wheeling you in the O.R. now.” Clint says, as he and Natasha both lift the side rails, and he moves so Alex can take his place. He nods over to Natasha as she nods back, and they start to wheel her bed out of the room and into the hallway, to the elevator to the peds floor and into their designated O.R..

Daisy Johnson, one of the residents under Clint’s service, takes over in wheeling Karen inside the O.R. as Clint and Natasha proceed to the scrub room. They stand side by side with each other as Clint turns the faucet on and opens a packet of soap, just as Natasha watches through the small O.R. window as Alex takes his place beside Karen who is being prepped by Daisy and the nurses as they put the drapes up and they prepare her anesthesia in her IV. She sighs and lowers her head, closing her eyes and allowing herself a moment as Clint turns his head to look at her.

“You’re shaken up with the DNR decision?” he asks, and Natasha nods silently. “You think she knows she won’t make it?”

“Will she?” Natasha asks quietly, looking back up to meet Clint’s eyes as he sighs and shakes his head slightly, and she nods slowly. “She wanted the DNR so Alex wouldn’t have to be the one to decide _for_ her should the time come. Are you sure they’re just a couple of best friends?”

Clint chuckles and shakes his head. “You know how their story goes? Childhood best friends, had a pact that when they reach forty, they’d have a baby together,” he explains and Natasha hums, the corner of her lips quirking upward as she turns the faucet on and opens a packet of soap to start scrubbing. “I didn’t think they took in the whole cancer factor altogether since she was already pregnant when they found out she was sick.”

“Didn’t think he would care either way. Look at him now, he’s all over her,” she says softly, looking back at the window to the O.R. and smiling to herself when she sees Alex smoothing Karen’s head gently as Karen smiles and laughs at something he said. Clint hums and looks back at Natasha as she shakes her head. “He stuck with her through the pregnancy and the cancer. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.” she says, and Clint chuckles quietly.

“They never told each other anything,” he says softly, shaking his head as he turns the faucet off. He lifts his hands upright to allow the water to trickle down his arms as he takes a medical mask and takes his cap from his scrub pocket. “Wonder what happened to _that.”_ he says, and Natasha hums.

She turns the faucet off and lifts her head to look up at Clint. “I need this to work, Clint,” she says quietly. “Promise me we’ll get her and the baby out of this O.R. alive.”

Clint sighs and shakes his head as he ties the medical mask behind his neck, lowering it from his mouth slightly as he looks at Natasha. “Nat…” he says, but Natasha shakes her head.

“I need a win, Clint. I need a win for _her,_ I need a win for them,” she says. “We have to make this family win.”

Clint swallows down his throat and nods slowly and understandingly, slowly realizing what Natasha means as she continues, “If I can’t fix my own goddamn family, might as well fix someone else’s.”

Clint sighs and nods. “We’ll do our best, then.” he says, and Natasha nods, following Clint inside the operating room.

And the operation goes by smoothly, of course, because Clint had done hundreds of C-section surgeries, and this one, though the patient is still prone to complications, isn’t at all any different from the rest. Natasha stands by the head of the table on standby, watching the vitals closely as Clint performs on the operation, and as Alex holds Karen’s hand, whispering assuring things and words to her that Natasha barely caught anything, but one exchange, of the _many_ they had in the duration of the surgery did manage to reach her ears and catch her attention.

“Once the baby’s here, once the baby comes, he’s your priority, okay?” Karen asked Alex. “He’s your priority, remember? You don’t leave his side like you promised.”

But Alex shook his head as he tightened his hold on Karen’s hand. “I don’t want to leave _your_ side.” he told her, but Karen sighed and shook her head, swallowing down her throat.

“Alex, it’s _your_ job. Where the baby goes, _you_ go,” she reminded him, and Alex sighed as he lowered his head. “Okay?”

“I know.”

And in the silence of the O.R., save for the beeping from the monitors, the clanking of Clint’s tools and the hushed whispers between Alex and Karen, Natasha allows her mind to drift for a moment, even as her eyes don’t leave the monitors in front of her. She allows her mind to drift off—as her eyes flicker over to this couple, _couple_ of best friends in _love_ who are having a baby—to one of the excruciating what-ifs, one of the memories she wished she had had when it was _her_ that was in Karen’s position, when her side where Alex is had been _missing_ and empty—missing a man who would hold her hand and whisper assuring things to her like how Alex is doing with Karen.

 _Because I wanted it to be me, Nat, but instead it’s you that he loves, and it’s you he wanted to be with_ —was that true? Did he really say that? Did he really _mean_ that? _And he came back here to fix what he had broken with you, and I wanted it to be me. I wanted me to be you the moment he told me he came back for you because he loves you._

She tears her eyes away from the two to look back at the monitors, shaking her head slightly as she takes in a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment before refocusing her eyes on the monitors. She refused to believe it, and even now as she thinks about it, as her heart aches in just _thinking_ about it—about the possibility of it, the prospect of hope, and Sharon’s words echoing inside her head about how _he_ had confessed to Sharon of his love for Natasha, she still refuses to do so. She feels the same kind of heaviness filling her chest as she blinks several times, refusing to allow her eyes to be filled with tears as she feels the corners of it stinging, the pain of it coming in and out slowly like a wave by the shore.

_Believe me when I say there are people out there who wish they were on your end, being told they are loved by the people they love._

Natasha’s eyes flicker back to the two, and how she had thought they were a couple from the beginning, even more so _now_ she knows how much Karen had gone through yet Alex still stuck with her to see it all with her until the end. The end, which couldn’t be _too_ far from now. The end that she knows Karen is aware of its existence, even if her best friend, the father of her child doesn’t. She wonders about the in-betweens, about the hows and the whys of their story—why the pact was made, _how_ the pact was made, how he stuck with her through it all, and how, even in the end, she was still willing to look out for him. Surely, there must be something? There must be something in there that they don’t know yet, and might never get the chance to know at all.

But maybe they _know_ it, they just refuse to do anything about it—and _that,_ for her, is the most heartbreaking thing in the world.

A small, familiar crying of a baby is heard, and Natasha snaps away from her thoughts as she looks down and smiles widely, especially when she sees Clint with the baby covered in blood, and Alex pressing a kiss on the side of Karen’s head as Karen laughs softly, sniffling as tears started to fill her own eyes. “He’s here,” she says softly, and Alex laughs, nodding as he sniffles. “And he’s okay.”

“He’s okay.” Alex says, and Natasha watches as Clint cleans the baby boy up, and gently rests the baby on Karen’s chest. She lifts one hand to cradle the baby boy, lifting her head slightly so she can press a soft and small kiss on the baby’s small hand. Alex wraps an arm around Karen’s head, his hand resting on the baby’s head, as Natasha watches fondly, a small smile playing on her mouth as she watches everything unfold.

Natasha looks up at Clint who smiles and gives her a small nod as she nods back, and he goes back to start cleaning and closing up Karen behind the drapes. Natasha looks up at the monitors, and her smile slowly fades, as the monitors start beeping rapidly, and Karen lets out a wet cough, her hold on her baby tightening and pulling him close to her chest. Natasha grabs a stethoscope and puts it on her, putting the chest piece on Karen’s chest as she listens for any signs of abnormalities. She looks up at the monitors, then back at Clint.

“Heart rate is up to 130,” she declares. “Karen, how’s your breathing?”

“It’s fi—uh,” Karen falters a little as she furrows her eyebrows and frowns slightly. “It’s, uh...it’s a little tough.” She gasps slightly for air as she continues to hold her baby.

“What’s happening?” Alex asks, lifting his head to look at the doctors and nurses around them. “What’s going on?”

Karen sees how frantic he is looking as Natasha removes her stethoscope. “Hey, Alex, look at him,” she says softly, and the baby coos, his small fists wiggling slightly, as Alex looks back down at Karen and the baby. “Look, _look_ at him, he has the sweetest eyes.” Karen chuckles softly as the tears that had filled her eyes start to trickle down her cheeks.

“Her stats are dropping,” Clint says as he continues to clean her up. “And her rates are higher than normal—she’s suffering from tachycardia.”

“Put her back on high-flow oxygen as it could be an embolus,” Natasha says, and she looks at Clint who gives her a nod, as if telling her to make _her_ call for whatever is necessary as it can be a complication from the spinal mets. “Johnson, time to get the baby out of here.”

Alex watches frantically, his head turning as he looks at all the doctors and nurses working, and Karen coughs almost violently as Daisy stands beside Alex. “Alex, can you take him?” she asks weakly, and Daisy inches herself closer, leaning to get the baby from Karen’s chest, as Natasha watches, waiting for the nurses for the oxygen.

“He needs to go to the NICU now,” Daisy tells Alex quietly, and his eyes flicker over to Karen. “And don’t worry, she’ll be in good hands.” she adds, turning with the baby and laying him inside an incubator. Alex stays put as he takes a deep and shaky breath, stroking Karen’s head gently as she lifts her head weakly to watch Daisy put the baby inside the incubator to be wheeled out of the O.R. and into the NICU.

“Alex, you stay with him,” Karen says, her eyes flickering back to Alex as she sighs. “You promised you’ll stay with him, and I’m counting on you.”

“But I don’t…” he trails off, sniffling as he strokes her head gently. Natasha watches them as she swallows down her throat, her eyes flickering back to the monitors, watching Karen’s stats drop further that if they don’t do anything, she _will_ die soon. “I don’t wanna leave you.”

“It’s okay,” Karen assures him quietly, giving him a small smile as she lays her hand over his, giving it a light squeeze—the best squeeze she can give despite her condition. “Go on, stay with him. I’ll see you in a little bit, alright?” Her thumb brushes on the back of his hand almost reassuringly, but even as Natasha watches, she can see that even _she_ is unsure of the uncertainty of seeing him in “a little bit”. But Alex nonetheless gets up and follows Daisy and a few nurses up to the NICU, as he looks back one more time, and Karen gives him one last reassuring smile as she watches him go.

Karen lays her head back down as Natasha and one of the nurses aid in putting in the oxygen cannula through her nose. She looks up at Clint. “Are we trying to go for heparin, or going straight for thrombolytics?” she asks.

“Thrombolytics are contraindicated. We need to do an embolectomy, and let's get an IVC filter, please,” Clint instructs as Natasha nods, as she and the nurses start to work. He takes a deep breath and looks down at Karen. “Karen, you've thrown a blood clot, and it's traveled all the way to your lungs, and it’s very serious. We need to remove it immediately, so we’re going to get you under and open up your chest to get rid of it.”

Karen coughs and gasps for air as she takes a deep breath. “Is that…” she trails off as she takes a shaky breath and swallows down her throat. “Will that work?” she asks.

“The procedure’s just going to last for about half an hour, so it’s just going to be quick.” Natasha says.

“But will it work?” she asks again, and Natasha pauses to look at Clint who looks back at her, before trailing his eyes down as he continues to clean. Natasha swallows down her throat and looks back at Karen who is looking at her expectantly, as if she _knows_ what the answer to her question, as if she already _knows_ this would be it. This would be the end.

“There’s no guarantee you would survive it.” she answers quietly, and Karen releases a deep breath and nods.

“What if we just don’t do anything?” she asks quietly, but Natasha shakes her head.

“Karen, Karen, listen to me,” she says, lowering her head so she can look at Karen straight in the eyes as she looks back at her. “We need to do this. We need to do this procedure, because if we don’t, you might not make it off of this table alive today.” Natasha almost begs her, _almost,_ because she needs to still have her mind intact if she were to do this procedure. She _almost_ begs, because she knows she signed a DNR and _this_ procedure would go against it, but she knows they can rescind it, she knows they can take it back, and she _wants_ to. She wants to take it back to give her more time, to give Karen _more_ time with her baby.

To bring this family together, because she swore that she _would._

Karen pauses, her eyes closing as she coughs, and the monitors start beeping rapidly. “Her pressure is dropping, get a cart ready!” Natasha announces, and Karen coughs and shakes her head, her eyes now closed as she starts breathing shallowly.

“No. No, I signed the DNR for a reason.” she says weakly.

“You can rescind, let us help you,” Natasha says, sighing as she shakes her head. “Karen, _please.”_ Please don’t give up, _please_ don’t go _now._

“I did what I wanted, Doctor Romanoff, I…” she trails off as she takes a deep breath and shakes her head. “The baby’s okay.” Karen groans and coughs, and Natasha deflates, her chest aching and her heart constricting as she watches Karen helplessly. “And I’m so tired.”

Natasha’s bottom lip quivers, her chin wobbling as tears start to fill her eyes and she swallows down her throat. She looks at Clint who sighs and gives her a small nod, and Natasha clenches her jaw and sits back down on the seat beside Karen’s bed, where Alex had been sitting earlier on. She rests her hand on Karen’s head, gently brushing it the way she observed Alex earlier on, the way she would probably like it, make her feel comfortable even in her last and final moments.

“I know,” Natasha responds quietly, nodding as she watches Karen cough and groan, as if in pain, and Natasha could only _imagine_ the pain she is in—that of which is so great that it had worn her out, that made her accept that this was it, that _this_ was the end. She knows those kinds of pain, _have_ been through those kinds of pain, and while she knows it’s different—her pain from Karen’s—she still knows how it feels, giving up and being too tired to even try. “I know.”

It’s what she’d felt for a long time, sometimes until now.

Clint goes back to cleaning her as Natasha inches herself closer to the bed, and Karen opens her eyes to look up at Natasha, giving her a small smile. “I guess I’ll never experience what you’ve experienced when I asked you earlier today how it feels like to be a mother, Doctor Romanoff,” she says weakly, and Natasha purses her lips under her mask, her hand brushing Karen’s head gently. “But I somehow imagined it while you were telling me, so I guess in some way, I got to experience it in my head.” She pauses, smiling widely as she closes her eyes again. “The toddler age is the best age especially for snuggles and snackies.”

Natasha chuckles softly, sniffling as tears fill her eyes and she nods. “And I’ll always be the bedtime story he would always ask from Alex, like how your daughter would always ask of you,” she continues weakly and quietly, and Natasha feels the heavy weight inside her chest weigh heavier and heavier, as her vision starts to blur as tears continue to fill her eyes. “I do hope someday the pain would fade away from him, you know? I never meant to leave him like this, never meant to leave him alone.” She smiles weakly as she swallows down her throat. “But he won’t be alone now ‘cause he’s a Dad.”

Karen coughs and she takes a slow and deep breath as Natasha pulls herself closer, brushing her head gently. “I love Alex, you know,” Karen admits quietly, and she sniffles as tears fill her eyes. “And I never told him ‘cause we were friends, and I was just there thinking...what if it doesn’t work?” She pauses as her voice cracks and she smiles sadly, even as the corners of her lips threaten to quirk downward as tears start to fall from her eyes. “And that’s so ridiculous now, because...was I waiting for something better? Better than the guy who’d seen me through a lot of things—through my whole life, and cancer—he’s loved me back through it all.” She shakes her head and pauses, biting her bottom lip as she allows a few tears to fall, closing her eyes and letting out a shaky breath. “And he’s gonna keep on loving me until I’m gone. Because...because that’s how Alex is, you know? That’s the kind of guy he is, and I’m one lucky woman to be able to feel that love coming from him.”

Karen takes a shaky breath as Natasha just watches and listens to her, each and every word coming and shooting through her like a bullet straight to her heart that it’s slowly eating her up and consuming her, her chest aching badly. “I should’ve told him, you know?” she continues quietly, her voice breaking as she sniffles and sighs, shaking her head slowly. “I should’ve told him, shouldn’t have wasted time on telling him how I felt, telling him I love him. Even with the cancer, I thought I’d have more time, but…” she trails off and releases a slow breath. “But it’s funny how you never think that the last time will be your last time, and how you think you have forever to tell the person you love that you love them...but you really don’t. When he left today, that was the last time, and even if I knew it, I…” She pauses and whimpers, shaking her head as she purses her lips tightly. “I never even told him then.”

Natasha swallows down her throat and she nods. “He knows,” she says quietly. “He already knows.”

“It’s different if you tell ‘em, different when you tell someone you love ‘em out loud,” she says weakly, coughing as she opens her eyes once again to look at Natasha, giving her a small and weak smile. “Should’ve told him. Should’ve said it out loud so he’d remember it even after I’m gone.”

The monitor starts beeping and Natasha looks up at the dropping stats as Karen coughs weakly. “Doctor, I…” she says quietly and weakly, and Natasha looks back down at Karen, who is fighting to keep her eyes open as she looks up at Natasha. “Did I do good?” she asks quietly, and Natasha nods.

“You did good,” she responds softly, smiling as tears fill her eyes, threatening to fall as she swallows down her throat. “The baby’s good.” she adds, and Karen nods, her eyes blinking slowly as her breaths slow down and the monitors beep more rapidly.

“The baby’s good.” she whispers, before her eyes shut close, and she eventually flatlines.

Natasha scrunches her nose and sniffles, ducking her head as she lets the tears fall from her eyes and slide down her cheeks. She lifts her head and strokes Karen’s head gently once again, barely registering Clint calling in her time of death at half past nine in the morning. She then pulls her hands away and gets up from the seat as Clint puts the tools back on the tray, allowing the nurses to take over in cleaning as he gets rid of his surgical gown and gloves, and he walks over to Natasha’s side, gently grabbing her by the arm as Natasha watches the nurses hover around her body, her vision blurring as more tears fall from her eyes.

“I’m gonna tell Alex,” Clint says quietly as he looks at Natasha, who tears her eyes away from Karen’s body, wiping her eyes away with the back of her hand as she rips off the surgical mask from her face. “I’ll go tell him.”

Natasha nods as she sniffles and takes a shaky breath. “I’ll go with you,” she says, and Clint just looks at her as she sighs. “I’ll go with you.” she repeats more firmly. Clint eventually nods, and he turns as she follows him back to the hallway as they proceed to the NICU, where from the outside, they see Alex holding their baby in his arms, smiling and cooing, his mouth moving as he looks down at the baby.

Natasha stands outside, crossing her arms over her chest as Clint sighs and enters, and Alex’s face lights up when she sees Clint. But then Clint started talking, and Natasha watches as Alex’s face falls, his eyes looking back down at the baby as he nods at whatever Clint is saying, however Clint is breaking the bad news to him. She watches as his face scrunches and tears start to fall from his eyes as he holds the baby closer to him, pulling him tighter as if to ensure no space would come between them, as if to ensure in protecting him as he is afraid he might also lose _him_ too.

_“But he won’t be alone now,” Karen had said. “‘Cause he’s a Dad.”_

Natasha tucks her hands in the pockets of her scrub pants as Clint exits the NICU, and she follows him to the elevators. He presses the button down as she sighs, looking back down at her feet. “You going straight to Sarah?” he asks quietly, and Natasha lifts her head and swallows down her throat.

“If I go see her, I might start crying, so maybe not yet,” she responds quietly, her voice breaking as she clears her throat. Clint nods slowly as the elevator doors open. “I think I’d need some fresh air.” she says.

The doors to the surgical floor opens, and Clint sighs, looking back at Natasha who gives him a small nod. Clint steps out into the hallway, turning to the lobby as the doors start to close and Natasha leans back on the wall behind her, resting her head back and closing her eyes. She lets out a huffed breath as she shakes her head. She opens her eyes and straightens herself when she sees that she’s near the ground floor, near to the spot where she gets her fresh air. She used to share the spot with someone else, as the spot used to have some sort of significance for her for _years_ back then.

Now she rarely uses it, rarely goes to it. But now, she thinks, she _needs_ to go back to it.

So when the elevator doors open, she turns a corner and walks to a hallway as she starts breathing heavily, the wave of emotions slowly coming crashing to her as she blinks to clear her vision being blurred by the tears already gathering in her eyes. She sees the rays of sunlight coming from outside going in through the familiar glass door, and she walks briskly to push it open as she is greeted by the warm sun and cool wind, and when she turns her head, she sees…

Him. She sees _him_ sitting on their usual spot just like before, and he is looking right back up at her.

And he _looks_ utterly defeated, probably feels the same way as he looks, feeling the same way she is, but when he sees her glassy red-rimmed eyes filled with tears, some of which are already sliding down silently on her cheeks, his eyes widen in slight alarm as he gets up from his seat and takes a few steps closer to her, stopping just to give them both a respectable amount of distance as she takes an involuntary step backwards away from him.

_It’s funny how you never think that the last time will be your last time, and how you think you have forever to tell the person you love you love them...but you really don’t._

“Nat—” he starts to say but she shakes her head.

“Don’t,” she interrupts, her voice breaking as she scrunches her face and more tears fall, finally the _wave_ of everything that has happened so far for the day (and it’s only almost ten in the morning) crashing to her hard and fast that it _breaks_ her and she just can’t help but give in to it because she’s so _tired,_ and so _sick_ of having to hold it in and fight against it because she _can’t._ She can’t, not anymore. “Don’t say anything, _please,_ just…” She sobs and shakes her head. “Don’t say anything.”

_It’s different if you tell ‘em, different when you tell someone you love ‘em out loud._

Steve just watches her patiently, looking at her sadly, aching to just come near her and hold her but he stays put as he watches and waits for her to say something, as he waits for her to make the first move, to tell him what it is, tell him what he’s supposed to do, what he’s supposed to tell her to make her feel better. So he waits and watches, as she slowly takes in a deep breath, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand as she takes a few steps closer to her.

“I’m just _tired,”_ she tells him, her voice cracking. “I’m _really_ tired, Steve. This _life,_ this...this _life_ I have it’s exhausting—being _alone_ is exhausting, being a single mom is exhausting, watching people die on the O.R. table is exhausting...fighting an old friend because of a _man_ is exhausting…” she trails off and pauses as she shakes her head and lets out a soft whimper. “But trying to _hate_ you, trying to convince myself that I don’t _love_ you is the _most_ exhausting, because I love _you._ And trying not to...I don’t want to do that anymore.”

Steve sighs, and Natasha just shakes her head, taking a step closer to him as she tips her head up, closes her eyes, and she pulls his head down gently to kiss him gently and softly on the lips. Steve closes his eyes and rests a hand on her waist as he kisses her back softly, the way he knows she likes, the way he knows would let _her_ know that he loves her and he had never stopped despite everything, the way he had always kissed her and he had never forgotten about it.

But it ends just as quickly as how it happens, as Natasha pulls away, taking a step back from him as she sniffles and shakes her head. “But it hurts having to love you,” she admits quietly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands. “So I’m not sure if I’d want to do that either.”

Steve opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. He wants to say something, something that can make her stay, something, anything, but he comes out empty. He comes out empty, and it’s frustrating because there’s a lot of things welling inside his chest that he wants to tell her, wants to _say_ to her and while some of which had already been said by Sharon this morning, he wants to say it anyway. He wants to say it, but he _can’t,_ because there’s nothing coming out despite the millions of thoughts racing in his mind, and thousands of emotions crashing through in his heart. She takes a deep breath and looks at him one last time, and her shoulders slump forward as she turns and walks away.

Even as he opens his mouth to say her name, he couldn’t. He couldn’t, and that’s on _him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is also the official introduction to bobbi, who will be a significant character in the future as well so stay tuned for more bobbi soon! anyway, comment what you think and leave kudos too!
> 
> (borrowed classic merder quotes ofc so thank u shondaland)  
> (also i know a lot of u wanted the steve x sarah meetup thing to happen, i swear it'll happen in the next update (or next few updates???) im v v excited to share it w u)  
> (also pls be kind w comments i am soft c: )  
> 


	12. Thrill of the Race

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long chapter ahead with lots to unpack! enjoy and happy vday (so here's a long chapter for u guys in line w that)!!

But he runs after her. He runs after her, after a few dumbfounded and silent moments, but like every attempt insofar that he dedicates to making things right with her, it’s all too late. When he gets to the elevators, she’s already gone, and when he presses the button going up, the elevator had already reached a high above floor inside the hospital, on its way down upon his press of the button, and it will take a couple more minutes before he could even figure out where she is.

He still does it, though, and when the elevator doors open, he steps in and presses the button to the surgical floor—hoping in vain it’s where she is, because where else could she be?

He doesn’t see her when the doors open, and when he steps out to look around the surgical floor, he doesn’t see her either. He walks along the hallway, past the interns, residents and other attendings, past the patients, and he still sees none of her. He releases a breath, feeling frantic as he runs his fingers through his hair, hoping that when he pushes the door of the attendings’ lounge open, she’ll be there, and maybe then, he’ll know what to say, maybe  _ then, _ he’ll be able to tell her what he’s always wanted to say, what he came  _ here _ to say. So he holds his breath, turning the knob to the lounge and pushes the door open, and—

She’s not there. She’s not here.

“You looking for someone?” He turns and sees Clint a few feet behind him, probably on his way to the lounge, but stops when he sees Steve by the door. Steve sighs, clenching his jaw as he nods.

“Looking for Nat,” he says quietly, and Clint tenses up, his fists clenching as his stare hardens at Steve. “Have you seen her?”

“She’s not there?” he asks quietly, tilting his head over to gesture at the lounge inside.

Steve shakes his head, swallowing down his throat as he steps aside and ducks his head, allowing Clint to enter the lounge. The pediatric surgeon pauses in his tracks and turns his head, looking over at Steve expectantly. “You wouldn’t get anything just by standing there, you know,” he says quietly. “Come on in, and you can maybe wait for her here.”

Steve hesitates for a moment, frozen in his spot by the door, not  _ entirely _ sure of what he’s supposed to do, before Clint lets out a slow breath, resting his hands on his hips and ducking his head slightly. “I know our first encounter when you first came in hadn’t at all been too pleasant, and it’s crossed my mind hundreds of times to just beat you senseless, but…” he trails off and shakes his head, lifting his head to look at Steve as Clint shrugs. “If she doesn’t. If she says she still loves you, then I don’t see the point why  _ I _ should beat you up when she couldn’t, not even a chance.”

Steve whips his head up as he looks at Clint and meets his eyes, and he feels a wave of guilt wash over him, the corners of his eyes stinging and his throat constricting. “She told you that?” he asks quietly.

“She told  _ you?” _ Clint asks, raising an eyebrow, and Steve just swallows down his throat and looks away. Clint looks at Steve for a moment and he sighs, looking away as he tucks his hands inside the pockets of his coat. “She doesn’t need to tell me. Not after what she told me before our surgery, and what...what she’d heard during and after.” He sighs and looks back at Steve, shaking his head. “She didn’t need to say it.”

_ Not after what she told me before our surgery, and what she’d heard during and after. _ What had she told him? What had she heard during and after the surgery? Was it another one of those surgeries that hit home?

“Forty-year-old pancreatic cancer patient, tumors metastasized to the spine,” Clint expounds, and Steve nods. “She was pregnant, gave birth, had an embolus but she didn’t wanna push through with the surgery.” He shakes his head. “Nat stayed by her side, listened to her last words and comforted her through it ‘till she died.”

“I’m sorry.” Steve says quietly, and Clint sighs and waves his hand dismissively, taking a seat on one of the chairs on the table. He gestures on the seat across as Steve closes the door to the lounge and sits across Clint.

“She took it harder. Must’ve hit close to home, the things the patient said,” Clint says quietly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his seat. He regards Steve and takes a deep breath, tilting his head to the side, not tearing his eyes away from him. “Why were you looking for her, anyway?” he asks.

He tries to forget, swallow down the feeling whole, but it comes to him in waves, taking up his defenses little by little over the past couple of days since he’s been back. The waves grew stronger over, though, especially when he found out about Sarah and what had happened to her, more so especially when he had lashed out on Natasha without meaning to, but doing  _ so, _ still, because once again, he had lost control over his emotions and said the  _ one _ thing that would hurt her even though he had no right to. The final strike, however, the final wave came washing over him just earlier today when he ran after her but he realized he was already too late—that he had  _ always _ been too late. Remorse etches his heart, guilt gnawing him from his guts and consuming him inside out, especially as her own words echo inside his head, the words he failed to catch, the words he had also wanted to say but never got the chance to. But  _ she _ said it. She said it first, and she beat him to it.

_ Trying to convince myself that I don’t love you is the most exhausting, because I love you. _

And he didn’t say anything. He didn’t, even as he kissed her back and hoped that it had been enough for her to know, but he figures it was still different if he still said it. “I just...wanted to tell her something,” he says quietly, swallowing down his throat as he leans back in his own seat. “I wanted to tell her something, and...I wanted to tell her a  _ lot _ of things.”  _ So, so many things. _ “And I had the chance to do it earlier, but I open my mouth and it’s nothing, and I don’t know if it’s the fear of being too late to tell her all those things, or the fact that she deserves more than what I’m here to tell her, or…” Steve looks away, the corners of his eyes stinging as he shakes his head slightly, releasing a slow breath and clenching his jaw. “I just wanted to tell her something.” he says quietly.

And Clint just looks at Steve, sighing and shaking his head, not really able to determine what he feels for this man in front of him. He knew Steve Rogers before to be a compassionate and dignified man, one who is humble but absolutely excellent in his field and in everything he does. He knew him to be confident and charming in the rightest way possible, found him to be kind and loving most especially to Natasha. But as he looks at the Steve across him now, while he believes him to still be that excellent cardiothoracic surgeon that he was way before, Clint couldn’t find it in him that dignified man who would always keep his head up through anything, couldn’t recognize this man in front of him because he doesn’t  _ seem _ so confident now than he was before, and more so he turned out to be  _ not _ as loving as he expected him to be especially to Natasha. This man in front of him is a stranger he barely knows, barely recognizes to be his friend. He barely sees the man his best friend had once loved—and continues to do so—barely recognizes this man Natasha claims to be the source of their little girl’s bouts of confidence and charm because he looks so…

So hollow, so empty, so  _ lost, _ and confused. So opposite the man he used to know Clint barely recognized him. This isn’t the Steve Rogers he knew. This isn’t him. He wonders what had happened to him all these years he had gone—what went through his head, what emotions he had felt, how heavy the guilt and regrets were that it had basically removed every ounce of who he had been before he left. It almost makes him feel bad for him.  _ Almost, _ but not quite, because then again, he’s still pissed on behalf of his best friend—even if she isn’t.

But he’s not like him. He won’t allow his emotions to take over him, not when he knows he  _ has _ to say something because somehow, whether she admits it or not, his best friend’s happiness relies on this man right here, and he sees that too.

“You’re never really too late in saying things. Some people say that, but...that’s not usually true, not usually the case. That’s not how words work especially with regards to timing,” Clint starts quietly, and Steve looks back at Clint who sighs and shakes his head slightly. “Especially in this case, I think. I know some words are meant to be spoken later than never, and it would still mean a lot to the person, and I think...I think whatever it is you plan to tell her...it’ll still mean something. It would still mean a lot to her.” Clint pauses and shrugs slightly. “It might mean the whole world to her.”

Steve takes a moment to drink in the words, and he looks down and shakes his head, and Clint releases a breath. “But at this point, she deserves more than the words. You’re right about that,” he says, and Steve looks back up at him. “It may mean a lot to her for you to tell her the things she might have been wanting to hear for a long time, or for you to tell her the things you’re meant to say which was why you came back, but it can only do so much—might amount to nothing apart from the momentary bliss of finally hearing it.” Clint says and then he shrugs. “So whatever it is, make sure you mean it. And make sure, whatever it is, you’ll  _ do _ it, and this time, you wouldn’t have to break her heart all over again.”

Steve nods, swallowing down his throat. “I’ll mean it. I  _ do _ mean it,” he says quietly, but also firmly like a promise. “I’ll mean it for both of them.” he adds.

Clint nods slowly in realization, tilting his head to the side as he narrows his eyes slightly at Steve. “So all the more you should mean it,” he says, and Steve nods. “She told you about her?” he asks.

“All of it,” Steve answers quietly with a small nod. “I, uh...I know all of it.”

Clint hums and shakes his head. “You don’t know all of it,” he tells him quietly, and Steve furrows his eyebrows slightly, sensing the man’s vehemence against him. “When you experience the same kind of pain and despair she did during  _ that _ difficult time with her, then you’d know all of it, but you weren’t.”  _ Which was how they got there in the first place, _ Clint adds mentally but holds his tongue, knowing it might go too far, and fearing it might overtake his emotions and steer the conversation into something unpleasant. But Steve seems to know it, as if he’d heard Clint think of it, as he ducks his head in a mixture of guilt and utter shame as Clint sighs, looking away momentarily before releasing a breath and looking back at Steve.

_ The woman loves him, and he obviously loves her. _ Who was he to stop them from trying to figure it out on their own?

“I’m sorry,” Steve says quietly, shaking his head slightly. “I know it...it’s not enough, I know, but…” he trails off and huffs out a breath as he lifts his head and looks away, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallows down his throat. “It’s not enough, even for you—”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” Clint says, interrupting him as he raises his hand and shakes his head, and Steve looks back at him as a flash of hurt crosses his eyes. “So save it. For her, or for...for the little girl, I don’t know, but not to me. I don’t wanna hear an apology that’s not intended for me.” He shakes his head, putting his hand flat down on the table. “Save that apology for someone else, but not me.”

“But it is,” Steve says quietly and weakly, shaking his head slightly as he looks at Clint who sighs almost frustratedly as he looks away. “It  _ is _ for you, and...and it’s not enough, I know—”

“I don’t want it, Rogers,” Clint says, a bit more firmly this time, looking back to meet his eyes filled with hurt and guilt and shame mixed altogether. “Because your words would mean nothing you wouldn’t do anything about it, and words said  _ towards _ me means nothing if I wasn’t the one you’ve hurt. And I know you know I’m pissed, which is why you’re apologizing, but I’m not pissed because you  _ left, _ or you’ve hurt me because you didn’t. I’m pissed because you hurt Nat. I’m pissed for her because for the life of  _ me, _ I can never understand why she can never be pissed at you no matter how hard she tries.”

_ Fuck it, _ he went off, anyway.

But Clint figures, the look on Steve’s face—the hurt and mixture of guilt and shame—evident on him makes it all fulfilling anyway, so he doesn’t take too long and feeling bad about how he’d went off despite promising himself that he won’t. So he just takes a deep breath and shakes his head slightly.

“If you wanna apologize and ask for someone’s forgiveness, you ask  _ her.” _ He shakes his head lightly and swallows down his throat. “You’re here now, and you’re given a chance—or you’re  _ about _ to be given a chance, I don’t know. But the only thing you gotta do right now is to not screw it up for both of them, most especially Nat,” he says. “You’ve already done it once. Doing it twice will just make you look more stupid, and doing it affecting another one will just make you look more of an asshole. And they don’t deserve the heartbreak, Rogers, not anymore, especially not the little one.”

Steve looks up at Clint, feeling slightly hopeful in the man’s words that what he said may be a slight sign of blessing, a slight sign of hope despite the heavy guilt brewing inside of him, knotting in the pit of his stomach that it actually  _ hurts, _ ripping his insides and shredding his heart.  _ They don’t deserve the heartbreak, especially not the little one—their little girl. _ “I won’t,” he says firmly as he nods, holding Clint’s cold—yet somehow  _ pleading _ stare—pleading he  _ would _ mean it, pleading to not hurt two of the most important people in his lives. “I won’t screw it up.” Clint nods, and the two men fall back in silence inside the attendings’ lounge.

She never came in, even as Clint left him alone because he had surgery, and assured him she would come, but she never did. Nevertheless, he still waited, because he never did the last time, and he wanted to change that.

But still, even as he waits, he can’t help but still look around the lounge, and eventually the whole surgical floor, asking others and even himself, “Where was she?” but getting no concrete answer from either. He still looks for her, hoping he isn’t too late in  _ this _ one, at least.

He isn’t too late, really, but then again, it wasn’t  _ her _ fault either. He and she just have the worst timing when it comes to finding each other. Because when he had run after her, she had gone straight up to daycare to fulfill her promise of snackies with their daughter and to play with her for just a while longer before she decided to head down. When she had headed down to the surgical floor to the lounge, he had gone to the operating rooms, hoping she would be in at least one of the surgeries in there, or in one of the galleries overlooking an operating room, but alas, she was not. When he had come back to the floor, relenting to just go back to the lounge and wait for her duty to call him, she decided to head down to the basement where she had found him earlier today, where she would usually go for fresh air, where  _ they _ would usually go out for fresh air a couple of years back.

So here she is, seated on one of the lone concrete benches by the generators at the back of the hospital, her legs crossed under her, her back rested on the hospital’s concrete wall, her eyes stinging and her chest weighing down as she allows herself to throw herself back to simpler times spent in this  _ very _ spot—the time where he and she were once in love enough that nothing else mattered around them, in love enough to only think brightly about the future they had planned to build, and in love enough that they would have never thought years later, they would end up hurting the other by leaving and giving up.

Even when they promised not to. And she remembers both of them promising  _ not _ to.

_ Natasha inched herself closer to him, as if making sure no space would be present between them, as he hummed and pulled her even closer, pressing his lips on top of her head as she sighed contentedly, closing her eyes and lifting her head to feel the warmth of the sun on her face. When she opened her eyes, she smiled widely when she saw him looking down at her, with that familiar look in his face that would never fail to send a warm flutter inside her chest, making her stomach flip a thousand times over just by feeling the love in that look. He leaned down to press a soft kiss on her lips, and she hummed, kissing him back softly and gently, her heart skipping a beat especially when she felt him smile against her mouth. _

_ He pressed a kiss on the tip of her nose, and on her forehead, and she sighed as she rested her head on his shoulder. “I wish it would be like this forever,” she said softly. “Just you, me...fresh air, and the sun.” She smiled widely. “It’s all I could ever ask for.” _

_ Steve chuckled softly, his hand rubbing on her arm as he let out a contented sigh. “We’ll have that someday,” he said softly. “Just you, me, fresh air and the sun. Maybe throw in some sand and the ocean or something.” _

_ “You mean like a vacation?” she asked with a chuckle, tilting her head to look at him as he hummed and nodded, looking back at her as she chuckled and shook her head. “As doctors? I don’t think we’re even allowed to go to the beach.” _

_ “Maybe we can go once you’re done with residency, you’ll be much freer then,” he suggested softly, and she hummed, smiling widely as she closed her eyes and he leaned to press a kiss on her forehead. “Just imagine—you, me, on the beach, just us and the sun and the waves and the sand. We don’t have work, we don’t have patients or surgeries—” _

_ “Just us,” Natasha finished for him as he hummed, pressing his lips on her forehead as she giggled lightly. “Just us being...us.” _

_ “I can see it,” he told her softly, resting his head on hers as he held her close. “I can see a lifetime of it.” he added, a soft smile on his face. She lifted her head and looked at him, and she smiled when he saw his bright blue eyes sparkling as he laughed softly and smiled at her, his eyes not leaving hers as she felt her heart skipping a beat and fluttering inside her chest. “What? You think I’m just gonna ask for only a few uninterrupted days with you?” he asked lightly and she laughed. _

_ “I thought we were just talking about the beach.” she said, and he chuckled, shaking his head lightly. _

_ “Not just about the beach anymore,” he said softly, holding both of her hands in his and squeezing them lightly as she smiled. “I don’t want a few uninterrupted days on the beach with you, Nat. I want a lifetime—a lifetime with you.” _

_ “And with kids?” she asked, a hopeful tone in her voice as she couldn’t help but laugh softly. He smiles widely, letting out a soft laugh at the mere thought of kids—a future with her. “You and me, and then we’ll have kids to bring to the beach too, so it’ll be us.” _

_ “And with kids,” he says softly, nodding in confirmation as she giggles lightly, leaning closer and up to press a chaste kiss on his lips. “We’ll work on it together, okay? A future for you and me, I promise.” _

_ “Okay,” she answers softly, pressing another kiss on his lips. “No giving up and no surrendering, okay? No matter what, it should be you and me in the end.” she says, leaning back to look at him in the eyes as he nods, a soft smile on his lips. _

_ “Okay.” _

In the end, the words were all empty and hollow, eventually forgotten years later when the struggles and hardships that came with love overwhelmed them and broke them apart. They never did go to the beach together—even just the two of them alone. She’d never gone to the beach with Sarah either, because going there with just  _ her _ and their daughter seemed wrong, painful in every sense that just thinking about it formed knots in her chest that it’s almost hard to breathe. That thinking about it  _ now _ just feels so painful, as if she’s drowning and she’s gasping for air, yet somehow the memory of the loving words they once shared to each other comforts her and brings her warmth—the same kind of warmth she had felt on her face when she tilted her head towards the sun, the same kind of warmth she felt wrapped in his arms, and the same kind of warmth she felt when he promised a future for the both of them, and she promised, in turn, to never give up.

It’s a warmth that she missed, and while she knew it may burn her any second she’d spend longer in it, she does her best to relish and relive it, just so she can feel the warmth again. She does her best to relive the moments of love, the kisses shared borne out of love, including the one she had given him this morning as she can’t help but ask herself—when was the last time they had done that? When was the last time they had shared that soft kiss that made her feel his love?

“There you are,” Natasha turns her head to the source of the voice, and finds Bobbi stepping outside of the hospital and closing the door behind her. “I was up on the surgical floor and everyone was looking for you. Went down here to check, and here you are apparently.” she says, and Natasha furrows her eyebrows.

“Why?” she asks, and Bobbi shrugs, walking over to the bench where Natasha sits, as she makes some space for the trauma surgeon to sit beside her.

“Rogers is looking for you. He’s been asking everyone he sees on the floor if they’d seen you, but you were nowhere in the lounge or any of the O.R.’s, and you weren’t up in daycare either,” she says, sitting down on the spot beside Natasha as she releases a breath, closing her eyes and leaning her back against the wall as Natasha looks at her. “I never thought he would miss  _ this _ spot in particular when looking for you. Isn’t  _ this _ your usual spot before?”

Natasha blinks and turns her head, looking away from the trauma surgeon and straight ahead to the back parking lot of the hospital. “Used to be,” she says quietly with a sigh, pushing down the waves of pain being struck on her heart. “He just came from here, I think, when I was in daycare with Sarah. I saw him here.” she tells her.

“You saw each other already?” Bobbi asks, raising an eyebrow as Natasha nods. “Then why was he looking for you?”

_ Did he wanna say it? Was he looking for her so he could say it too? _

“I don’t know,” she responds, shaking her head slightly as she sighs. “I don’t…”  _ She does, she does know, but she doesn’t wanna say it. She doesn’t wanna say it out loud because it might not be it. It might not be right. _ “I don’t know.”

Bobbi blinks as she ducks her head and sighs. “So you’re just out here? Where he once was earlier today?” she asks quietly, and Natasha nods. “Why?” she asks, as if prompting Natasha to speak, prompting her friend to let out the pent-up things inside her chest. She knows Natasha well enough to do so, knows enough to see, just by the look in her eyes, that something’s building up inside her chest—huge and heavy enough it might explode anytime soon, and it’s the last thing Bobbi wants for her.

Natasha swallows down her throat as she feels the corners of her eyes stinging and filling with tears, her throat constricting as she takes a shaky breath and releases a slow one. “I had a patient who died earlier. She was, uh...a cancer patient, suffered from embolism after she’d given birth to a baby boy,” she says quietly and Bobbi nods. “I stayed by her side when she refused an embolectomy, refused any treatment because she was already in pain and she was...she was tired. So I stayed by her side until she died…” she trails off, sighing as she runs her fingers through her hair, shaking her head lightly. “You know how dying patients are and their last words. They usually say their regrets first and wishes after, and hers was that she hadn’t told him she loved him—her best friend, the father of her kid. She never got the chance to, and she never will. And it just...it just hit me.” She looks away and sighs. “It hit home...and I came down here to get some air, but I saw him, and...and  _ I _ told  _ him.” _ Bobbi tilts her head, blinking her eyes in surprise as Natasha shakes her head and ducks her head. “I told him I love him, that I  _ still _ do, that it still hurts me, and that I don’t know if I still wanna do it.”

Bobbi furrows her eyebrows slightly, choosing not to say anything so as to allow Natasha to speak and continue at her own pace, and the neurosurgeon sighs and shakes her head. “I don’t know what came over me,” she admits quietly, looking over to Bobbi and giving her a small and sad smile, her vision blurring as she struggles to focus on her friend’s face through the tears in her eyes. “But I’ve become this hopeless romantic for thinking I was put on this Earth to be with a specific someone, and when he left, it destroyed me. And I pour out everything to him, I tell him all of these things in every opportunity I can with him, but he doesn’t say or do anything…”

She purses her lips, her chin quivering as she sniffles and shakes her head. “And I know everyone says that he came back here for me, that  _ I _ was the reason he came back, so he can fix things, but...it doesn’t seem like it. He doesn’t say it...nor does he act like it. He told Sharon he loves me and he came back for me, and I told him I love him, and I  _ do. _ I still do, I  _ do _ love him, but I don’t…” She pauses, her voice breaking as tears fall down her eyes, and she shakes her head, releasing a shaky breath as she ducks her head. “I don’t wanna love him anymore, because it  _ hurts. _ I don’t want it to hurt anymore, so I want it to go away.”

Bobbi blinks, looking down at her hands as she sighs. She wishes she can say anything,  _ anything _ at all to lighten her friend’s load, to make it hurt less for her and anyone else whom  _ this _ man had caused harm and heartbreak too. She lifts her legs on the bench, pulling her knees closer to her chest as she releases a breath, listening to Natasha’s silent sniffles and sighs beside her, as she thinks. She thinks of what to say, which  _ one _ to say first,  _ how _ to say all of these, because as much as she wants to be the kind of friend who would just let her cry silently beside her, she somehow knows she might as well  _ say _ something to the woman beside her.

Because she knows this kind of pain, knows this kind of heartbreak. She’s gone through it too, survived through all of it. And she believes that if  _ she _ had survived it, so could Natasha.

“The pain...it eventually goes away.  _ Eventually, _ which is quite a long time contrary to what people use the word for,” Bobbi says softly, shaking her head as she looks at Natasha who turns her head to look back at her. “But the love that came before it,  _ that _ one doesn’t. Even if you want to, no matter how much you want to, it’s still there.” She shakes her head, offering a small smile to Natasha. “It’ll always be there.”

“I don’t want it to,” Natasha says quietly, shaking her head, as she sniffles. “I don’t want it anymore. I want it to go away, and forget that it happened. That  _ we _ ever happened, you know. Like I would just hope to wake up one day and walk in the hospital and see him and just think...who is he? Instead of thinking about the things he’d done, the things he didn’t do or didn’t say, and feeling bad about it.” She shakes her head and swallows down her throat. “I’m tired of feeling bad about all of it, you know?”

Bobbi nods slowly. “I know,” she says quietly. “I know how that feels.”

Natasha blinks, at that moment fully realizing what Bobbi is referring to, what she had been saying between the lines, what  _ she _ had experienced in her own heartbreak too. “How do you deal with that?” she asks softly. “How do you deal with that, reaching the day when you can say you’re finally happy and that you’ve moved forward from the emotional scars?”

The trauma surgeon shakes her head and lifts a shoulder to a shrug. “I don’t think it’s a conscious thing, you know, like a conscious decision to force myself to deal with it, and move forward from it...from  _ him,” _ she answers softly. “It’s not about the ‘being happy’ part as well, which is the thing. I just tried to get through each day, and prevent myself from asking myself ‘Am I finally happy now?’ or ‘Have I finally moved forward?’ because it just makes me feel more miserable and hurt.” She pauses and quirks her lips as she looks away for a moment, her eyes training straight ahead as Natasha just looks at Bobbi. “So I just...just get through it, however ways I can, which is basically work and...and that’s it.”

Bobbi sighs, feeling the familiar ebbing pain in her chest as she looks down at her hands, shaking her head slightly. “I don’t know if you’ve felt this, or you’ve experienced this with your case as well. But when me and Hunter first broke up—when we decided to push for the divorce after two years of marriage, I just...I mean, there was the feeling of the entire world collapsing on me just thinking of the fact that the man whom I thought was the love of my life—my  _ soulmate, _ or whatever—was leaving me, and I’m leaving him, and it’s terrible having to feel it. I know I broke his heart but he also broke mine, and when he broke mine, I wanted for him to feel the things I’ve felt—the heartbreak and excruciating pain, all of it.” She pauses and shakes her head. “And I just really hated him, you know? Hated having to love him, hated getting to know him for the rest of my life,  _ absolutely _ hated him and the people we’ve turned out to be in the end.”

Lance Hunter—Natasha knew him. He was Bobbi’s ex-husband, also a cardio surgeon like Steve who had been his mentor at that time, and like him, left three years ago when his relationship with Bobbi officially ended and ran its course. She’s familiar of the story, of course, the entirety of it, even if she’d only learned about it when Hunter left, when she thought Steve’s departure caused  _ him _ to leave and Bobbi had been the one to correct her and say that their quiet divorce and failed attempt to reconcile and fix their marriage had been the main reason for Hunter leaving. Natasha knows about the story—the sequence of events, the technicalities and faults each person had done, but today is the first time she’s hearing about the behind the scenes of the whole story—the emotions and pain Bobbi had felt through the separation and breakup, and her journey towards healing and moving forward.

And so far, she understands her. She understands the hate to an extent, the disdain of having to know someone who had caused so much pain, more so the disdain of having to  _ love _ someone who had caused so much pain. She knows that, and she understands that, and she wants to know how it could be gone, how it could all go away.

“But it’s also tiring having to hate him like that. Like you said, it’s tiring having to feel bad about all the things you’ve been through, and all the efforts you put in but receiving nothing in return. I wanted to heal, I wanted to be happy and content with where I am, and what I’m doing to keep myself surviving,” she says, and Natasha nods. “So I just figured...if I spend more time hoping he would suffer the consequences of what he did to me, what he did to break my heart, then I’m just allowing myself to be hurt by him for a second time in my own mind. Even if he isn’t there, because I keep on hating him, because I keep on just...wishing he would get hurt and suffer like how I did, then I’m not really helping myself. I’m just further hurting myself, you know, just letting him reside in my heart and in my mind.” She shrugs. “And the same goes with trying to make myself forget him and the love we shared. Which is weird because...there I was hoping I would  _ forget _ him but there’s also my mind thinking, ‘Who are we going to forget today?’ and his face just comes in my mind which doesn’t really help.” She chuckles lightly, and Natasha lets out a breathy, quiet laugh. “None of that really helps.”

“So what did you do?” Natasha asks softly, and Bobbi looks back at Natasha, whose wide green eyes are glistening with tears, filled with pain and utter confusion of what to do, where to go with this love she has for this person she doesn’t want to love anymore. She feels that from her, and she’d felt it herself from this  _ one _ person she tried loving so hard as well.

“Not actively hate him for one,” Bobbi says, raising an eyebrow as Natasha hums and ducks her head, looking down at her hands. “And the second part is…” she trails off and sighs, shaking her head. “It’s a cliche, corny and impractical advice but I had to work it through  _ with _ him, that eventually led me to just...forgiving him.” Natasha furrows her eyebrows slightly and Bobbi huffs out a chuckle as she shakes her head and releases a breath. “I know, it’s...it’s not good advice, not very practical. Because normally when someone hurts us, we wanna hurt them back, and when they wrong us, we wanna be the right one, but...with forgiving someone, with  _ forgiveness, _ at least, you try to settle old scores, and the old wounds heal in the process as well. And it’s honestly the most we can hope for, you know, for the wounds to heal—especially the old ones.”

Natasha’s bottom lip quivers as she shakes her head, a fresh wave of tears filling her eyes. “I can’t do that, Bobbi,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t just forgive him, and go back to the start as if everything’s okay when it’s not. Everything is  _ far _ from okay.”

Bobbi shakes her head quickly. “You don’t forgive him so things can go back the way it was before—it’s not how  _ this _ one works.” Natasha sighs and raises an eyebrow, as Bobbi purses her lips and nods solemnly. “You forgive him not to make him feel good, you do it to heal  _ you. _ You need to forgive him,” she says quietly. “Forgive him for leaving you three years ago with a child who became sick after a year of being born. For not being there when your little girl was sick and you were suffering. For not speaking his mind out and being unable to say the things you want him to say.” She pauses, tilting her head slightly to the side as she takes a deep breath. “For not being the man you fell in love with three years ago, and not keeping himself from breaking your heart even if he promised not to.”

And he did promise not to, several times, on  _ this _ exact spot.

“Probably just enough to remind you of what  _ has _ been, but not enough to force yourself in accepting this man who’d become a stranger to you,” Bobbi continues. “Just forgive him, okay? So you can forgive yourself for being reminded about him every time you look at your daughter and every moment you spend in the hospital. So you can forgive yourself for loving him, despite logic telling you not to.” A tear slips down Natasha’s eyes as she wipes it quickly with the back of her hand, looking back down at her lap, as Bobbi sighs. “You don’t have to accept him back, and things don’t necessarily have to be the same as how you were before. You just do it so you can heal, so the load you’re carrying everyday can weigh a little less.”

And she doesn’t honestly know what to make of that,  _ how _ to make of that—forgiving him for breaking her heart and leaving her, leaving  _ them. _ She doesn’t really want to do it, not really something she’d consider doing it now, especially as she had already done so much for him—from sharing Sarah with him to confessing her love for him and kissing him on a whim. She doesn’t really wanna do those kinds of things for him anymore,  _ move _ for him so he wouldn’t have to, because she’s sick of it, and she’s  _ tired _ and humiliated enough to be the only one doing it as if she’s desperate to get him again when she really isn’t.

But on the other hand, Bobbi can be right as well, that she’d be doing this not exactly for him, but for  _ her— _ so it could hurt a little less, having to sit here on this spot and having flashes of memories of him, having to look at her daughter and watch her smile knowing she got  _ his _ smile and his heart, having to see him and work with him now that he’s back. She would forgive him so she would heal, and she could finally move on, and maybe one day if she’s lucky enough, she would forget and she would be fine—that she and Sarah would be fine. She would forgive  _ him, _ so she could forgive herself for still loving him after all these years, despite logic telling her not to, but she doesn’t know  _ how, _ nor does she know where to start.

“I don’t know how to do it,” Natasha tells Bobbi quietly. “I don’t know where to start. So I don’t know if I can do it right away.”

Bobbi nods. “It’s okay. I think that’s normal,” she responds. “You can take as long as you can, take your time in gathering up the strength to do so because it’ll take a lot. But the important thing is you’re working yourself towards it, that for once, you’re doing something, you’re doing  _ this _ for yourself.” she says, and Natasha nods, pursing her lips as she tilts her head to the side and hums, regarding Bobbi as the trauma surgeon furrows her eyebrows slightly, the corner of her lips quirking upwards in amusement.

“I just realized...you’ve gone through all of those things with Hunter and I didn’t know,” she says softly, letting out a soft chuckle as she shakes her head. “You never told me about this... _ all _ of these.” she says, as Bobbi huffs out a chuckle and shakes her head.

“It was around the same time Steve left and you found out you were having a kid,” Bobbi says, smiling at Natasha, as she shrugs. “Your suffering’s much greater than mine, and it’s not exactly something so big I couldn’t handle as well.” Natasha chuckles quietly and shakes her head.

“No suffering’s too small or great to not share it with a friend,” Natasha tells her softly, raising an eyebrow as she smirks. “I’ve always been your friend, Bobbi. And it would’ve been nice to know someone else in this hospital is suffering with me in  _ that _ department.”

Bobbi laughs and shakes her head. “Ain’t that comforting, huh?” she teases, and Natasha laughs as she nods. “And I know you’re my friend, Nat, I’ve  _ always _ known. But I knew I could deal with it by myself, so I did it, with a little bit of professional help from psych, of course.” She shrugs, and Natasha hums, smiling as she nods. “I guess now I’m just glad I’m able to help, after the shitshow I’ve been through and stuff—the fact that I know what it’s like to have my heart broken and not wish it on anybody else also helps a lot.”

Natasha smiles and nods. “Thanks, Bobbi.” she says, and Bobbi hums and smiles widely as she nods back, releasing a breath as she gets up from the bench, smoothing her scrubs and coat and facing Natasha again.

“No suffering’s too small or great to not share it with a friend—it’s what you said. I can say the same for you,” Bobbi says softly, smiling at Natasha. “I’ve always been your friend, Nat, and know you can always tell me things, alright? Especially if he hurts and breaks your heart again.” She raises an eyebrow, and Natasha laughs softly, nodding as she smiles at the trauma surgeon.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Natasha says, and Bobbi nods, nodding over at the door back inside the hospital.

“I’ll head back in, since now I’ve found you and stuff, and it’s the only reason I ever really did go down here,” she says, and Natasha chuckles, and Bobbi regards her. “You gonna stay here for a bit?”

Natasha nods, giving Bobbi a small smile. “I’ll head back up in a while, if someone asks.” she says, and Bobbi hums and nods.

“Do you want a specific someone to know?” Bobbi asks, and Natasha stays silent, sighing as she looks away and Bobbi nods. “I’ll see you up in a while.”

Bobbi lays a hand on Natasha’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze as she looks up, giving her a smile before Bobbi leaves and she is once again left alone. She takes a deep breath, looking down at her hands clasped on her lap as she thinks back to what Bobbi had said, the  _ one _ thing she did to get over and move forward from her own heartbreak, the one she’s advising that  _ she _ could do as well:  _ “Just forgive him, okay? So you can forgive yourself for being reminded about him every time you look at your daughter and every moment you spend in the hospital. So you can forgive yourself for loving him, despite logic telling you not to.” _ , those words echoing inside her head like a mantra, stuck to her and unable to keep it out no matter how hard she tries. It makes her wonder if it  _ is _ indeed the rightest thing to do, the  _ one _ thing that can help her heal and move forward so the weight inside her can lighten, so she can see the sun rise in the darkness once again.

_ You can take as long as you can, take your time in gathering up the strength to do so because it’ll take a lot. _ She thinks she will take her time, take as much as she can and for once, allow herself the luxury of  _ that _ time. She knows it might take her a long time—another month, maybe two or more, or maybe a year or two, or  _ even _ more. She just has to be patient, make sure to remind herself that  _ this _ is for her, and not for him. That this is for her and Sarah, and never about him.

That’s a good place to start, she supposes—thinking that  _ this _ isn’t about him, and that she’s  _ not _ doing this for him.

Natasha releases a slow breath and nods to herself before getting up from the bench, feeling fine enough to tell herself she can get through the rest of the day with the remaining ounce of strength that she has. She runs her fingers through her wavy hair, thinking to herself that she  _ might _ need a haircut one of these days as she walks back inside the hospital room and through the dim-lit hallway of the basement, past the gurneys and spare bed cushions and blankets, and to the elevator where she presses the button going up. She takes a deep breath as the elevator doors open, and she steps in, pressing the button to the surgical floor and releasing a breath as she watches the doors close. She leans back on the elevator wall, crossing her arms over her chest as she looks up to watch the floor number rise along with the elevator, resting her head back and sighing as she closes her eyes for a moment, before hearing the elevator ding, and she opens her eyes as the doors open to the surgical floor.

Time to finish the rest of the day.

She steps out and walks over to the floor lobby, and she sees the nurses and residents pausing in their tracks for a moment upon seeing her pass by, murmuring among themselves, and she sighs, shaking her head as she opts to choose to ignore these people instead. Did he  _ really _ cause this much commotion just by looking for her? How many people  _ exactly _ did he have to hassle just so he can look for her? What did he even  _ want _ from her, should he happen to find her—stare at her and become speechless once again?

“Nat.” Natasha stops in her tracks, feeling her heart skipping a beat inside her chest at the familiar voice calling her name.  _ Ah, _ she thinks.  _ He speaks, alas. _

She feels like the whole world had stopped around her, especially as she turns slowly and finds him a few feet behind her, his chest panting as if he’d been running, his hair disheveled as if he’d been running his fingers through his hair exasperatedly several times over and over again for the last few hours or so. She meets his eyes, those bright blue eyes that lacked the sparkle she was once familiar with, lacked the light it once held as it is now filled with different sorts of emotions she can’t quite pinpoint and name, but it’s all  _ there, _ and so overwhelming it translates into the tears filling his eyes as he looks back at her.

“Can we talk?” he asks quietly, almost unsure of himself that at first, she wasn’t even quite sure if he meant what he was asking from her. “Please? Just the two of us at our spot.” he adds, his voice barely above a whisper, but loud enough for her to still hear him.

Their spot. They have different spots in the hospital, among them was the back of the hospital where the concrete bench is, where she had kissed him earlier this morning and where she was found by Bobbi, but another one of them was the roofdeck by the helipad, where they usually go for fresher air, and to watch the overview of Manhattan. She hasn’t been there in a while, not since before he left, and not since before things had become difficult for the both of them. She isn’t quite so sure if she should even indulge him, say yes to his request and call it  _ their _ spot, even if there was no  _ them. _

“Why not here?” she asks him quietly, swallowing down her throat in an attempt to clear the constricting feeling coming around it. “Why not talk here?” she asks.

Steve just looks at her, sighing as he ducks his head and tucks his hands inside his coat pockets, because there they are, in the middle of the lobby of the surgical floor, and he doesn’t know if it’s the most appropriate spot, exactly, to talk to her about the things he wants to say but he figures he might as well just say it. He’ll say it this time so he wouldn’t miss it anymore. He’ll try harder to say things this time because he  _ should _ be trying harder, because this  _ thing— _ this agenda to fix the things he had broken is on him, and he should do better. He should fix things better, and he should do better especially for her.

He takes a deep breath, lifting his head to meet her eyes again, those expecting eyes that are bright, green and glassy, those eyes that he loved, and  _ still _ loves, the eyes that makes him want to do things better and fix things better. “I know it’s not enough...and I know I...I should give you better, and I  _ will, _ but…” he trails off, his mouth hanging open as he pauses, and Natasha just looks at him, waiting patiently for him to continue and say something. “I came here, I-I went up here to...I was going to say…” He sighs and shakes his head, swallowing down his throat as he takes another deep breath. “All I can say now is that I’m sorry, and...and I know I shouldn’t be asking you of anything. I shouldn’t be looking from you anything after...after all I’d done, after all you’ve been through, but I do want to ask if...if it’s okay, if it’s not at all too much, if...if you could forgive me. And if you could...give me a chance,  _ one _ more chance, and I will make it up to you...you and...you and Sarah.” He pauses as he purses his lips together as he nods. “If you’d allow me to.”

_ Forgiveness, _ can you imagine? He’s asking for it. And Natasha takes a deep breath as she looks away from him and licks her lips, pursing them together as she forces herself to push down the pain rising up inside her to prevent the tears from falling. Steve swallows down his throat as he continues, “And I know I’m a little late in telling you that. I should’ve said that the moment we saw each other in the elevator, or every other chance I got seeing you over the past few weeks. I-I know there’s a list of the wrong things that I did that I’m giving you, asking you to forgive me for each of it, so I’m adding that too—for being too late, and for being always unable to say these things when I’m with you.”

He pauses, and she looks back at him to meet his eyes. “I know I bailed the moment the hard stuff overcame us, the moment the pain and the struggles took over the best of us and I broke your heart. I left during that time, and...and I broke your heart in doing so,” he says, and she clenches her jaw, ducking her head to look down at her feet as she sighs. “And I know this...this is the hard part too. This is a hard part, right? Even if this is nothing compared to the hard parts you’ve gone through but...whether it’s those things or  _ this, _ those kinds of difficulty or this, I’m not gonna leave. I promise you I won’t.” He shakes his head slightly as she lifts her head to meet his eyes and he sighs. “I promise I won’t leave.”

_ “We’ll work on it together, okay? A future for you and me, I promise.” _

_ No giving up and no surrendering, okay? No matter what, it should be you and me in the end.” _

“You promised that too before,” Natasha tells him quietly, and he looks down at his feet and shame, perhaps remembering those promises—those small and empty promises that he made. “You promised but it didn’t happen. How will I know it wouldn’t happen this time? How would I know if I can trust you this time?” she asks, because she doesn’t think she will. She doesn’t think she  _ can _ know if she can trust him, which is the whole point.

Natasha watches as he lifts his head and takes a deep breath, pursing his lips as he looks away for a moment as if thinking, before looking back at her and meeting her eyes again. “You don’t. You wouldn’t, you...you can’t,” he says quietly, and she swallows down her throat, feeling her heart breaking inside her chest. “You can try...which is probably too much to ask for from you since I’ve...I’ve asked quite a number already. But I can show you.” he adds, nodding his head slightly as she looks at him. “I can show you, and...and maybe then,  _ you _ can. You can at your own time, and at your own pace.”

Does she even want to? Wait and watch him do it so she can  _ try? _ “I don’t know if I can do it,” she tells him quietly, raw and honest, laying it out for him. “I wanna trust you, but I don’t know if I do. I wanna run the race and trust again, but I don’t want to run anymore.” she adds.

Because at the end of the day, she’s afraid of the same cycle to happen to them again—that he’ll hurt her, and she will hurt him, and she’ll come running and they’ll be okay. And there’s the alternative—where he’ll leave and she’ll come running but she would get tired until he’s long gone. She doesn’t want to run. She doesn’t want to run after him, chase after him anymore because she’s done it and she can’t do it anymore.

Steve pauses for a moment, looking away for a moment before lifting his eyes back to look at her again, the corners of his lips quirking upwards slightly in a small smile as he nods slightly. “Then from now on, maybe you can just expect me to show up,” he says softly, and she blinks at the shift of his tone—from a guilt-filled, shameful one to a slightly less shameful and a more hopeful and gentler one it’s almost too familiar, too close to home. “I’m always gonna show up. And I will never run, so you wouldn’t have to chase after me, so I could be the one who can chase after you this time. And I know it’s still running, but this time, you wouldn’t have to run alone, and I’d be there—if you want me to—to stop with you if you wanna stop, and run after you should you want me to.”

She feels a tug in her heart, a tug that makes her think they have hope at the words he said, the promises he had told her. But she stops it before it can fill her up and overwhelm her. She stops the pinch of hope from growing into something more and taking over her intuitions and emotions, making her act by it when the last time she did, it ended up backfiring. Perhaps the tug in her heart  _ does _ mean hope, that somewhere inside her, her gut feeling is telling her that  _ this _ is hope, that this is a start of something better than what they’ve once had, better than her dreams and what she’d hoped for, but she pushes it down and away from her heart. She can’t allow herself to feel it yet, can’t make herself fall for the same thing that caused her pain again. It had been a mistake the first time, and she can’t allow herself to do it again.

It’s not a mistake she’ll make twice in her life.

Steve swallows down in his throat and nods, lowering his head slightly when she doesn’t say anything else in return. He lifts his head and takes a deep breath, giving her a small smile and a nod, before he turns back to walk, but he stops when she speaks up. “Do you remember our last kiss?” she asks softly, making him pause in his own tracks, turning back so he can look at her. She pauses when he faces her, as if struck by her own questions, the words she uttered from her own mouth. “I...I can’t help but try to remember it earlier—the last time we kissed. I tried, but I couldn’t…” she trails off and sighs, the corner of her lips quirking up in a sad smile. “I can’t remember our last kiss.” she says. Because during, and even _after_ she kissed him, it's one of the things she'd been trying to figure out, but she couldn't.

Steve pauses at her question as he looks away for a moment, tilting his head slightly to the side, and he can’t help the upward quirk of his mouth as he looks back at her, his small smile widening slightly. “It was a Monday. It was before...before Mayo, before everything else. You were just waking up and I just got out of the shower because I was going to work and you were on a later shift that time,” he says softly, and he looks away from her as his smile widens. “You were wearing my dark blue shirt that’s three sizes bigger than you, but you’ve claimed it to be one of your favorites since it’s like a short dress to you, and you say that it’s comfortable to wear especially at night whenever we sleep. I sat down on the edge of the bed beside you, and I nuzzled my nose on your cheek to wake you up. You smelled like lavender, the shampoo you put on the night before, it was still stuck in your hair even until that morning. You tilted your head and smiled, and then we kissed before I said goodbye so I can go to work.”

Natasha blinks slowly, nodding as she slowly remembers. It was the morning before the first time Mayo called for her fellowship, before everything went to complete shambles and before they knew they were at the end of their line. She slowly remembers the shirt he’s saying, the shampoo she used, and the way he looked so fresh and bright against the morning sun coming from their bedroom window.

“It was our morning kiss, one of those lazy ones where you tried to convince me not to go to work so I could cuddle with you...and thinking about it, maybe I should’ve, if I knew that had been our last,” he says quietly. “But the kiss was one of our normal daily ones, like we’d do it many times for the rest of our lives.”

Natasha feels the tug once again in her heart, the one that comes with a faint ache. “If you knew it was the last, maybe none of those that happened after had ever happened.” she says quietly, and he hums, nodding slowly.

“Maybe.” he says in agreement, giving her a small nod. He gives her one last small smile, before turning to walk, and this time, she allows him to go, watching him disappear as he turns a corner to a different hallway, and she releases a breath when he is gone.

She doesn’t see him for the rest of the day, even as she spent the rest of it alternating between working on patient records and surgery paperwork in the lounge and up in daycare with Sarah. She doesn’t see him, even as she sees Clint, Bucky, Tony, Bobbi and the rest of their friends as they talk and hang around the lounge for a little while before she begins her preparations to go home. She doesn’t see him even as she picks Sarah up from daycare, and she passes by the surgical floor to arrange her surgery schedules for the next upcoming days with Wanda by the nurses’ station before she and her little girl would proceed down so they can go home.

She did, however, see Sharon from afar, who pauses before entering one of the on-call rooms just as she and Wanda walk away from the nurses’ station, so Wanda can prepare to leave too, and Natasha and Sarah can go home. Natasha pauses when she sees her, her arm around her little girl tightening almost instinctively as the toddler lifts her head from her mother’s shoulder, looking around the floor as if sensing something that may be bothering her mother. She watches Sharon’s eyes shift from hers to Sarah, especially as the little girl faces her mother and tilts her head in question, and Natasha gives the toddler a smile, brushing her blonde hair gently away from her face and pressing a kiss on her forehead as Sarah rests her head back on her shoulder, wrapping her arms around her neck. Natasha looks back to see Sharon look away, entering the on-call room and closing the door behind her.

And yet she doesn’t see him. She can’t quite pinpoint  _ why, _ but she nonetheless looks for him within her periphery and vicinity, hoping he would come out and see her with Sarah. She doesn’t know why, nor does she know the logic behind it, but she figures it would mean something to her if he comes out and sees her with their little girl—if he would come out and  _ see _ Sarah, not at all certain whether this is a desire for her to allow him to meet her, or something else she would yet to know. She doesn’t know if she’d been moved by their conversation, by his promises she’s not certain if she should believe, which is prompting her to allow him to meet this wonderful and beautiful little girl who had the best of  _ both _ of them. She doesn’t know if it’s right to want for them to meet, but in that moment, she wants it anyway. Nonetheless, even in the few moments she allows herself to look for him, she doesn’t see him. So she proceeds to the elevator, their little girl in her arms, as she presses the button down so she can go home.

She  _ does, _ however, see him the following day, when she asked Wanda to page for a cardio consult for a patient they both have.

“Do you have any preference for a cardio consult?” her resident had asked almost cautiously, and Natasha sighed as she shook her head.

“Just page whoever’s first and available.” Natasha told her, raising an eyebrow at the resident, who obeyed and paged for a cardio consult for one of Natasha’s regular patients—a 68-year-old Alzheimer’s patient who might be suffering from a heart problem she can’t quite declare  _ yet, _ as she needs a proper and credible cardio consult for that.

And alas, a proper and credible cardio consult  _ did _ come, of course, in the form of Steve Rogers, because what would Natasha’s day in the hospital be if not for a bit of a screw up here and there, ain’t she right?

“She’s tachycardiac, suffering from WPW—Wolff-Parkisons-White syndrome—and her ECG shows it,” he says, holding up the electrocardiography for Natasha to look at, and he points at the abnormal spikes on her patient’s heart rate. “You can see the delta wave slurred upstroke in the QRS complex associated with a short PR interval. Both are reflective of the impulse making it to the ventricles early without the usual delay experienced in the AV node.”

“So she has an abnormality in her conductive cardiac tissue between the atria and the ventricles,” Natasha prompts. “But she’s asymptomatic in our past consults. She can’t be a WPW patient, can she?” she asks, looking up at Steve who nods.

“She is, since WFW patients are usually asymptomatic when not having a fast rate, but they  _ can _ exhibit symptoms once they do. What did she complain about before you called for a cardio consult?” he asks.

“Palpitations, dizziness, shortness of breath,” she says. “Her husband told me she fainted quite a few times too.”

“WPW patients experiencing supraventricular tachycardia can experience syncope. She  _ is _ a WPW patient,” Steve insists, and Natasha sighs as she nods. “What’d you say she was your patient for? Early onset Alzheimer’s?”

“Yeah,” she says, nodding. “But she’s not a surgical patient, but I  _ was _ the one who diagnosed her of it.” Steve nods.

“WPW carries a small risk of death, she’d be fine. All we have to do for surgery is radiofrequency catheter ablation,” he says gently. “It wouldn’t be too long, and I think she can have the surgery. She’s still strong enough for it.”

They told the husband of the diagnosis and surgery, and he consented to it on behalf of his wife, as she wasn’t at all lucid and able to respond for herself. Steve had been careful, of course, in explaining what WPW was and what the surgery will do, and since he was careful to add that doing the surgery will completely eliminate the possibility of it arising again, or even progressing it further to cardiac arrest. So he and Natasha helped in preparing her for the surgery as they transfer her to the hospital’s specialized EP lab, where procedures like this one occur.

Once in, Steve looks up and is surprised to find Natasha entering the lab, having initially entered alone with the patient whom he had allowed to go under general anesthesia. Steve is already preparing the catheters, prepping up the spots where the veins he would insert these catheters would be. He gives her a small smile as she closes the door behind her and walks over to him and the patient. “Harold, her husband, insisted I’d be here while you do the surgery,” she says gently, taking her place on the other side of the bed beside the patient—Christina. “He says it would make him feel more assured if I’d be here.”

He lets out a soft chuckle as he allows one of the nurses present to take over the preparations so he can jumpstart the catheter. “He doesn’t trust me enough to make the surgery smooth?” he asks lightly, and Natasha chuckles quietly, shaking her head and crossing her arms over her chest.

“Guess he trusts me more even if I’ve no idea how to operate that thing,” she says, and Steve hums, smiling as he turns the catheter on. “I never  _ did _ learn how to use that.”

Steve chuckles, one that goes straight down her stomach, producing a warm swirl on the pit of it upon hearing his chuckle. “Do you want me to teach you?” he asks softly, meeting Natasha’s eyes. “Say the procedure out loud?”  _ Just like the old days when all he ever did before was teach her and guide her, just like those simpler days. _

“If you want to,” she responds, shrugging, a small smile playing on her lips. “It’s your surgery.” she adds, and Steve hums and smiles as he nods, nodding over at the nurse who nods back as he steps away from the patient.

“So the primary objective of ablation,” he starts, moving over beside the patient once more as he lifts the catheters to show Natasha. “Is to use radiofrequency energy to destroy a small area of heart tissue that is causing rapid and irregular heartbeats. Destroying this tissue helps restore the heart’s regular rhythm. It’s gonna take us a minimum of two hours should things go smoothly and well, and we hope it will, but if you have any surgeries within the day—”

“I don’t,” Natasha says, shaking her head and giving him a small smile and a shrug. “Rather boring day.”

Steve hums and smiles as he nods. “So normally in these procedures, we’ll ask the patient not to consume anything six hours prior to the surgery. Luckily, her last meal  _ was _ six hours ago according to her husband, so we can start working,” he says, and she nods, taking a chair as she wheels it to beside the patient and she watches as Steve turns a monitor on above the bed. “For the entire procedure, you can just watch here since we’ll be seeing everything from here, especially when we get to the heart.”

Natasha nods, and Steve waits until the nurse injects something on the patient’s neck, right by the jugular vein, where the catheters will be inserted. “So we’ll be putting the sheath in the jugular vein, and into the blood vessels,” he says, and Natasha looks up to find an image appearing on the monitor. “And we’ll put in the catheters to be put in her heart, and to locate the abnormal tissue causing arrhythmia, we’re gonna send a small electrical impulse through the electrode catheter, which will activate the abnormal tissue that is causing the arrhythmia.” The monitor begins to show red until it becomes dark, as Steve moves the electrode catheters in the sheath. “The other catheters record the heart’s electrical signals to locate the abnormal sites, which we will see in the machine and here too.”

Natasha smiles, her eyes flickering over to Steve who is watching the monitor intently as he navigates his way to the patient’s heart. “Then we’ll place the catheter at the exact site inside the heart where the abnormal cells are. Then, a mild, painless, radiofrequency energy will be sent to the tissue,” he says, pausing for a moment as he continues to navigate. “There.” He nods over to the nurse who presses a button on the machine. “This destroys heart muscle cells in a very small area that are responsible for the extra impulses that caused the rapid heartbeats.”

Steve continues to operate on the catheter, consistently coordinating with the nurse who would press the button at his command and instruction. “It’s simple,” he says, his eyes flickering over to Natasha momentarily as he smiles, before he looks back at the monitor. “It’s just another one of those simple procedures, plus it’s quiet. It’s kind of relaxing.”

“Sounds meticulous.” Natasha comments, and Steve chuckles, shaking his head, not tearing his eyes off of the monitor.

“You’re a neurosurgeon. You  _ should _ be meticulous,” he responds, and he lifts a shoulder for a small shrug. “Besides, you always  _ have _ been meticulous.”

Natasha smiles. “I like feeling the rush in a neurosurgery, the thrill of a chase within the operating room of a neuro procedure,” she says, and Steve hums. “This one’s too quiet for my liking.” Steve chuckles.

“Guess I’ve learned to appreciate the quietness over time,” he says softly. “It’s nice, though. You’ll see in two hours.” Natasha hums, chuckling softly as she looks back at the monitor and allows a comfortable silence to settle inside the room.

It took them longer than two hours, as Steve had explained that there were more damaged tissues that they’d have to destroy, and when he pulled the catheters out to check her heart rate, they were relieved to find it back to normal. The nurse took over once the catheters were pulled out, and Steve nods to Natasha who stands up and smiles, tucking her hands inside her coat pocket as Steve walks to the spot beside her. “Guess I learned something new today.” she says, walking over to the doors to the lab as Steve follows, chuckling when he pushes the doors open for her to leave first.

“D’you appreciate the silence more in an O.R. now?” he asks teasingly, and Natasha rolls her eyes playfully as she shakes her head, looking away to hide the blush forming on her cheeks from Steve opening the door for her because  _ fuck, _ did she need to blush every time the man does something chivalric? 

“God, no. That bit isn’t at all what I’m looking for in a surgery,” she responds, walking over to the waiting room where Harold is, as Steve chuckles beside her. “I just know how to operate that thing now by reciting the procedure in my head.”

“That  _ thing,” _ Steve responds, amusingly, raising an eyebrow as he smiles. “Just happened to save Harold’s wife’s life, which we will tell him right about…” Natasha looks back at him, amused, as they both stop in front of Harold who stands upon seeing them. “Now.” He looks over and smiles at Natasha who shakes her head and chuckles softly.

_ This freaking dork. _

“Doctors,” Harold greets, nodding at both of them as he looks up at them imploringly, and both Steve and Natasha smile at him. “How is she? How was the surgery?” he asks, and Natasha looks up at Steve, a small smile on her lips as Steve smiles and nods.

“The surgery went well,” Steve responds, and Harold smiles widely, sighing as if in relief and clasping his hands together in front of his chest. “She’ll be put in the cardio recovery room, it’s also on this floor, just down  _ that _ hall.” Steve points to the hall down the waiting area, and Harold turns to look at it as he nods. “Just say your wife’s name to the nurse behind the desk, and she’ll be guiding you to where your wife is. You can stay by her side when she recovers, although I do strictly instruct that she’d be put in bed rest, unmoved for six hours at the least. It’s necessary for her recovery.”

Harold nods, understanding and taking in Steve’s instructions. “Alright, she’s being put in there now?” he asks, and Steve nods. Harold smiles widely and looks over to Natasha. “She’ll be alright?” he asks, and Natasha chuckles softly as she nods.

“She will. Doctor Rogers fixed her heart.” Natasha responds gently, and Steve smiles, looking down at her as Harold grins widely and nods, looking up at Steve.

“Thank you so much, Doctor Rogers,” Harold says, and Steve looks back at him as he nods and shakes the hand Harold is extending towards the doctor. The older man sighs contentedly, tucking his hands back in the pockets of his trousers. “Time to see her, and when she wakes up, it’s time for me to remind her once again of who I am.” he says, a smile on his face.

And it’s an odd statement, really, one that’s  _ supposedly _ sad given that the man is basically implying that his wife forgets him a lot because of his early onset Alzheimer’s, but both Steve and Natasha take a pause, furrowing their eyebrows and tilting their heads almost in confusion because the way Harold said it, he seemed... _ happy. _ He seemed happy to do it, even if, for them at least, it must have been one of the hardest things to go through—to have to remind the person you love who you are each time because she’d forgotten about you without even willing to. It must be painful, difficult, a huge struggle and a hurdle to deal with yet the smile on the man’s face seems to say otherwise, as he seems to tell them a different story.

“I’m...I’m sorry about that,” Steve says quietly, unsure of what to say,  _ really, _ so he looks to Natasha for confirmation as she just looks up at him, then back to Harold. “I heard your wife has early onset Alzheimer’s, and it must be difficult—”

“Oh, it  _ is _ difficult,” he says with a chuckle, shaking his head. “But it’s nothing to be sorry about, nothing to be ashamed of either. She’s still the woman I love and the woman I married more than twenty years ago, and I’d be more than happy reminding her of who I am—it’s like I’m introducing myself to her all over again during the first time we’ve met.” He smiles, and Natasha can’t help a small smile as well as she nods and looks down at her feet.

Steve nods too, and he hums. “Sounds like a perfect love.” he says softly, a smile on his face, and Harold chuckles and shakes his head, waving his hand dismissively at him.

“Oh, Doctor, believe me when I say there  _ is _ no perfect when it comes to love and marriage,” he says. “Ours isn’t an exception to that either. There will always be struggle in love and marriage, and it’s just a matter of picking who you want to struggle with.” He smiles, and Natasha lifts her eyes to look at Harold, her heart skipping a beat at hearing that.

_ Oh, to experience that kind of love. _

“Do you have kids, Doctors?” he asks, and Steve feels his heart stop for a moment, his eyes widening slightly as he opens his mouth to speak, unsure of what to say or what to respond, or if he should  _ even _ look at Natasha to ask what  _ he _ should say, so—

“Yes,” Natasha answers softly with a nod, and Steve whips his head to look at her, almost unbelievingly, and she looks up at him with a smile as she nods. “Yeah, we...we do.  _ We _ do. We have one—a little girl.” She looks back at Harold, swallowing down her throat as the older man smiles widely, regarding both of them, even as Steve’s eyes are stuck just looking at Natasha.

So unbelievingly, as if he’s having a  _ difficult _ time understanding what’s happening and what she just said.

“Must be a beautiful little girl if she came from the both of you,” Harold comments with a soft chuckle, as Natasha lets out a small laugh, ducking her head, and still feeling Steve’s eyes on her. “How old is she?” he asks.

“Two,” Natasha answers, a small smile on her lips. “She’ll be three on December.” Harold nods.

“The kids help in making the love and marriage stronger, aye? Gives more reason to stay together knowing you’ve created—though a bit pesky at times, but nonetheless, very beautiful little treasures, huh?” he asks, a smile on his face.

And Natasha lifts her head again, feeling a pang of pain in her chest at the mention of  _ love _ and marriage being referred and put on them— _ both _ of them. “I-I guess so.” she responds quietly, and Harold nods.

“It really does. That’s what pushes me to remind Christina of who I am...or what  _ reminds _ me to really wake up everyday and endure all of this, because of the kids too—even if they’re all in their prime ages and living their own lives, knowing you both have created something so beautiful and amazing out of your love, it pushes you to work harder.” he says, and Steve looks back at him as Natasha nods, pursing her lips together as she looks down at her feet once again.

But Harold seems to be oblivious by the uncertainty, the growing tense atmosphere between them, as he sighs and nods. “Well, I wouldn’t keep you in too long. I’ll go visit my wife,” he says, and Steve and Natasha snap away from their respective thoughts as they nod and smile at the older man. “Thank you again, Doctors.”

“I’ll see you around, Harold.” Natasha says gently, nodding as Harold turns and walks over to the hall of the cardio recovery room, while the two doctors watch him go.

They are silent in the waiting room, both of them unsure of what to say, how to convert the tension into a somewhat more casual tone and atmosphere, like how they had been in the EP lab, how they had been before walking to Harold—the small banters and the chuckles and laughter. So Steve does his best. “I, uh...I think it’s...it’s almost lunchtime, or it  _ is _ lunchtime,” he starts, clearing his throat as Natasha looks up at him. “D’you wanna...uh, I-I can buy you lunch. I mean, I...I  _ will, _ I mean, I  _ will, _ if you want me to, and—”

“Steve,” Natasha says, interrupting what  _ would _ be his nervous rant as she lets out a small chuckle, shaking her head. “It’s okay, it’s...I can’t, I—”

“It’s okay,” Steve says, nodding quickly and smiling, if only to hide the pang on his chest and the hollowness that’s forming in his heart. “I-It’s okay, completely understand. I mean, I just offered, and there's always next time if you want, and—”

_ “No, _ Steve,” Natasha says, chuckling as she raises a hand and shakes her head, and Steve pauses to look at her, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. Natasha lets out a small smile, feeling her heart beating fast against her chest as she tucks her hands inside the pockets of her coat again, feeling it turn cold out of nervousness and anxiety. “I was gonna say I usually do lunches on daycare with Sarah.” she says, and he nods slowly in realization. “And I was...I was wondering if this time, if...if  _ you _ want, you can go with me, and you can have lunch there too.” she offers slowly.

And Steve couldn’t  _ believe _ what she’s saying.

“Y-you mean…” he trails off, shaking his head slightly as he furrows his eyebrows in confusion, and she chuckles lightly. “You mean, I can...I can  _ meet _ her?”

Natasha sighs.  _ No, _ she doesn’t know where  _ this _ is coming from, or why she even decided that  _ today _ is the right day for her to do this, but it’s here, anyway. It’s out in the air, and she’s halfway through saying it and making it come true, and this desire has been in her since yesterday when she left and she was looking for him while she was carrying Sarah on her hip, so she might as well fulfill it, right? Make it come true, not for  _ him, _ not for Natasha, but...but for Sarah. Because it’s good, right? It’s good that she would meet him too, and he would meet her?

“Yeah,” she responds, nodding, as if in response to both  _ his _ question and hers.  _ This is good, right? _ “Yeah, you...you can. Of course, you can, you’re her father.” she adds.  _ And it makes sense. _

“Yeah but...but I…” he trails off, still shaking his head slightly.  _ But I left you and her. _ “If...if you’re sure—”

“I am,” Natasha answers with a nod. “And you didn’t know, and…”  _ I know you wouldn’t if you knew. _ “I think you’d love her.” she adds with a nod, and Steve blinks several times, a wide smile slowly growing on his mouth as he nods, making Natasha’s heart flutter inside her chest, yet making her feel  _ utterly _ and very nervous about the whole ordeal she’s planning.

“Yeah, I’d...I’d love to meet her,” Steve says lightly, chuckling softly, as his eyes begin to sparkle and his smile widens. “I’d love that, yeah.” he adds with a light laugh and Natasha smiles as she nods, and turns, raising an eyebrow as she tilts her head.

“Well, let’s go.” she says, and he follows her to the elevators.

And Steve couldn’t honestly describe what he’s feeling—a mixture of nervousness and joy, somehow a bit of melancholy and guilt at not being able to meet her earlier and having to  _ leave _ her when he did, but overall he feels anxious and nervous. He tucks his hands in the pockets of his coats, watching anxiously as the elevator doors close, and Natasha presses the button to the daycare floor. He doesn’t even know why she’s doing this, what  _ made _ her do it, or what it meant now she’s doing it, but right now, he can only focus on the numbers above the elevator doors, his heart pounding fast against his chest, especially when the elevator stops to the floor number Natasha pressed the button to—the daycare center. He barely hears Natasha release a breath, especially when the elevator doors open and she steps out while he follows closely behind her.

They pass by rooms, all filled with kids of different ages, and both of them stop by a colorful room behind a glass door, where they can see what’s inside, and what he  _ sees _ inside is a room with a playmat, tons of different toys ranging from blocks and toy houses and castles and dolls, and there are crayons and coloring books scattered on the floor, with a few kids sitting on the playmat, each one of them having their own thing, some of them clumped together as they play or color or draw, and a few nurses assisting some of them as well.

“That’s her,” Natasha says, snapping Steve out of his own thoughts, and he looks at her as she nods over to the room. “The girl with blonde wavy hair in the light blue shirt.” Steve turns, looking back at the room and his eyes immediately landing on  _ her— _ the little girl holding a crayon beside a brunette little girl, the one with a light blue shirt who looks up at her friend and whose eyes sparkle as she laughs what he could only imagine to be the  _ most _ melodious laugh in the entire world. He feels his heart flutter, especially as the said little girl looks up, her eyes landing on Natasha beside him, and her eyes brightening as she gasps and lets go of the crayon and gets up from the floor.

Natasha chuckles. “Looks like she found us,” she says, looking back at Steve who looks at her. “Hope you’re ready.” she adds softly.  _ Because she isn’t, _ she thinks.  _ Not quite, completely ready. _

And it all happens too fast as well that he never really  _ got _ to be ready. Natasha slides the glass door open, crouching down and catching the little girl— _ their _ little girl, their little Sarah, in her arms. And Steve watches as the little girl giggles and Natasha lifts her as she stands back up and adjusts her to her hip, pressing kisses on the giggling little girl’s face as she brushes her hair gently. It all happened too fast, because one minute the little girl was just screaming ‘Mommy’, and the next, here he is, watching the woman he loves carrying and kissing their— _ their, _ his and hers, like what she said—little girl in her arms as she giggles and squirms in her arms in every kiss Natasha gives her.

_ God, _ is he just  _ floored _ at how beautiful this little girl is.

“Hey, sweetie,” Natasha says softly, tugging down Sarah’s shirt and smoothing it properly as the little girl looks at her mother. “I want you to meet someone, okay?” Sarah tilts her head and turns to look at Steve who is standing just in front of them, awestruck and frozen, unable to determine what he  _ should _ do at this point. “This is Steve.” she says.

And it’s to Steve’s surprise that after a few moments, Sarah lets out a small gasp, her eyes widening as she looks at Natasha. “Steve? Like in your stories?” she asks, and Natasha pauses at that.

_ Fuck, _ she didn’t think her daughter was gonna say  _ that. _

Steve pauses too, his eyes flickering from Sarah to Natasha in confusion. Stories? She tells her stories about him? Natasha looks back at him as she clears her throat, pushing down the bile rising in her throat as she lets out a small and tight smile. “Yeah, baby, like in the stories.” she says quietly, smiling widely when Sarah looks back at her, and she smooths the little girl’s cheek with her thumb, and Sarah looks back at Steve.

He sees it—Natasha’s green eyes in her, all of Natasha’s  _ beauty _ in her. “Hi, Sarah,” he says softly, taking a small step forward and giving her a gentle smile. “I’m Steve, Steve Rogers.” he says.

Sarah smiles widely at him as she perks in her mother’s arms. “My name is Sarah,” she says softly, her voice light like a flute, and Steve figures that it’s one of the most beautiful sounds he has ever heard in his lifetime. “Mommy tells lotsa stories ‘bout you.” she adds, tilting her head to the side as she smiles widely.

“Yeah?” Steve asks, almost quite unbelievingly, his smile widening as he watches Sarah nod.

“Lotsa stories! My favorite is when you and Mommy first met,” she tells him with a wide smile, and she then scrunches her nose. “But you know that story already.”

Steve chuckles softly and nods. “I do. I’m quite familiar with the story,” he says. “It’s my favorite story too.” he adds, and Sarah gasps, her eyes widening as if in delight.

“Mine too! Mine too!” she says excitedly, swinging her legs as she bounces in Natasha’s arms excitedly that Natasha tightens her hold on the little girl as she chuckles quietly, rubbing her hand on the girl’s back. “Mommy says lotsa stories about you! More stories!”

“Okay, sweetie,” Natasha says, pressing her lips on Sarah’s hair as the toddler turns to look at her, and Natasha smiles, rubbing her nose against hers that Sarah giggles, making Steve’s heart flutter at both the sound and the sight of it all. Sarah calms in Natasha’s arms, turning back to look at Steve and smiles widely at him as Natasha brushes her fingers through Sarah’s hair, watching her little girl grow excited  _ just _ by meeting Steve, who’s apparently her  _ most  _ favorite character in the bedtime stories she tells her—which she supposes makes sense, right? Because…

_ So should she say it? _

“Sarah,” Natasha says softly, catching her daughter’s attention as the toddler looks back at her, and Natasha gives her a small smile, her heart pounding fast against her chest as she feels the corners of her eyes stinging. She swallows down her throat and smooths Sarah’s cheek gently with her thumb. “Steve is gonna have lunch with us today, okay? That alright with you?” she asks softly, and Sarah tilts her head in confusion.

“Okay,” she says softly, scrunching her nose. “But why, Mommy? I thought you and me, like family?” she asks.

She says that—that lunches are for Mommy and Sarah because they’re a family, and lunches are supposed to be with families, which is why even if Sarah is being babysat by her Auntie Yelena, they’re  _ still _ a family, so they still have lunches, and it’s alright for them to do so. So when she says that Steve is gonna have lunch with them today, she understands her little girl’s confusion into thinking  _ why, _ if lunches are built and meant to be spent by families only, would he eat with them? Why would he have lunch with them  _ today, _ and possibly for a number of incoming days?

_ So this is how she tells her. _

Steve’s heart is beating as fast as Natasha’s as he waits, and he watches Natasha take a deep breath, her hand on Sarah’s face dropping to the toddler’s side as she holds her in her arms. “Because he’s family too, sweetie,” she says softly. “D’you know how some kids here have Mommies and Daddies too? Like a...a Mommy but a man?” Sarah nods, completely understanding the reference even though Steve doesn’t (though it  _ does _ make sense to an extent). “Well, Steve is your Daddy, sweetie. If I’m Mommy, then Steve here is Daddy.” she says, as a form of an explanation.

Natasha feels her heart sinking, especially as she watches Sarah’s eyes widen slightly, turning to look back at Steve then back at her, like she couldn’t believe what is happening, like there was  _ too _ much information and she is still trying to process everything inside her head. “Steve...Daddy?” she asks, turning her head to look at Steve. “Can call you Daddy?” she asks.

Steve nods, a smile forming on his lips as his eyes fill with tears. “Yeah, Sarah,” he says softly, smiling widely. “Of course you can.”

And Sarah’s smile slowly widens as she squeals, bouncing in Natasha’s arms excitedly. “Daddy! Daddy!” she exclaims, extending her arms towards Steve as Steve’s eyes widen slightly, looking over at Natasha, as in approval, as she nods, and he gladly takes the toddler in his arms, and Sarah squeals, wiggling in Steve’s arms as he chuckles, smoothing the little girl’s back, and brushing away some of her hair away from her face—her beautiful face that is  _ much _ more beautiful up close, her rosy cheeks smooth and her wavy blonde hair soft and light. Sarah wraps her arms around his neck, as if in an embrace, and Steve chuckles softly, pulling the toddler closer as he rests his hand on her small back, resting his head on the little girl’s head as he closes his eyes and sighs softly and contentedly, all while Natasha watches, her vision blurring as tears slowly fill her eyes.

She’s been wanting this,  _ this _ moment to happen—has been desiring for it to come into fruition ever since Steve had come back, for her to see their daughter in his arms, for her to hear their daughter calling for him and getting as excited with seeing him as how she would see  _ her. _ But there is still a tug in her heart, a faint pang in her chest as she feels her heart sinking at seeing it happen  _ now, _ right in front of her—the contented look on Steve’s face, the corners of his lips quirking downwards slightly as if he’s trying to push down the tears forming in his eyes. She can only imagine what he must be feeling—probably so overwhelmed, so filled with love and adoration for their beautiful little girl, who has probably loved Steve more  _ now _ that she knows that he’s family, that he is  _ her _ family.

But not necessarily Natasha’s, which thinking about it just makes her heart sink further inside her chest. She’s not entirely sure if this was the right move, the right decision, the right thing to do, especially if it causes her  _ this _ much pain.

But she looks at the serene look on his face, the look of peace and contentment as he rubs his hand on their daughter's back, and as Sarah tucks her face in the crook of his neck, and she thinks that maybe perhaps it _is_ the right thing to do. Maybe Sarah deserves to meet him, who would look like to be a good father to her, a good Dad who will love her probably as much as Natasha loves her. Maybe _this_ time it doesn't have to be about her, nor does it have to be about _him,_ but it would be about Sarah, and what's best for her and what she needs. Natasha sees goodness in Steve in being a father, even as early as now, she can see it, and she'd hate for Sarah to miss that. She'd _hate_ to be the one to prevent Sarah from experiencing what's it like to have a good Dad.

So despite the pain and the sinking feeling, she smiles, tucking her hands inside the pockets of her coats the same way she tucks the doubts and anxieties in the deepest crevices in her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, thank u shondaland for the grey's references that helped in building the chapter!
> 
> leave ur comments, but pls do be kind :( hehe thank you and hoped u guys enjoy (especially those rooting for the steve and sarah meetup this one was for u and hope u look forward to the next chapters)!


	13. Fantasies Don't Come True

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i tried to make this chapter as lighthearted as possible, because of all the chapters preceding this (and also because of those that will come after bwahahaha), so i hope you'll still enjoy despite the lack of the usual flair of drama!

He’s not entirely sure, but he supposes this is what’s supposed to feel like—being a Dad.

And it feels good, even if he’d only ever got to know her for a day, it feels good. He can’t get it off his head—the way she smiles and the sound of her laughter, the way she reaches for either him or Natasha whenever she wants to be cuddled, the way her nose scrunches when she starts to color a really small shape and she wants her colors to be precise, the way her eyes brighten whenever she would make either him or her Mommy laugh—he could  _ never _ get over all of these. She’s beautiful in every way, a radiating ball of sunshine, a wave of fresh air in everything she does, and while he knows and he laments deeply at not being able to watch her grow from a young baby to the little toddler she is now, he just knows that’s how she’d always been, that was how she was raised to be.

In all parts, thanks to Natasha, of course, and that’s also one of the  _ many  _ things he can never get off from his head.

He likes watching her smile every time Sarah does, the way she laughs too whenever Sarah would giggle and say something that makes her laugh. He likes it when she calls for her, extending her arms so Sarah can crawl over and she could hug her tightly. He likes watching her press kisses on the little girl’s face, the way her face lightens whenever  _ she _ makes their toddler smile. He likes the way she would smile every time  _ he _ would make Sarah laugh, the way her eyes sparkle every time she would catch him doing so, but she would immediately look away after, though still unable to keep the small smile playing on her lips. She is beautiful, the same way her daughter is and he just thanks the lucky stars and genetics that almost  _ all _ of Sarah had come from her and her beauty.

He never knew how to be a father because he never had one, and even as he  _ is _ now, he’s not entirely sure if he’s doing the right thing, if he  _ is _ at all being a father to Sarah. But he supposes it’s only the first day they’ve met, the first day Sarah had known she has a father, and the first day Steve had finally met his beautiful little girl with Natasha, so he supposes it’s gonna be fine. He supposes that it  _ should _ be fine, that he would get the hang of it soon the longer he’d spend time with Sarah.

Well, he  _ hopes, _ at the very least, and while he wants to, he knows he’d have to wait until Natasha would allow him, until  _ she _ would say something at the very least about whatever ground rules she has on him seeing Sarah or him spending time with Sarah.

After spending lunch together and playing just a little while longer in the daycare center, both Steve and Natasha have to go back down to resume duty, as Natasha nods over at Steve, and he nods in agreement. “Okay, sweetie, Mommy and Daddy have to go back down to work,” Natasha says softly, pulling Sarah closer to her arms as she presses a soft kiss on the girl’s head, and the toddler looks up at them, pouting as her eyes widen up at both of her parents. “I’ll come pick you up later, okay? When work is done, I’ll come get you, alright? Daddy and I will come get you.” she says.

“D’you have to go?” Sarah asks, pouting as she looks over at Steve who sighs and looks at Natasha who raises an eyebrow at him, as if challenging him to  _ contest _ her with this decision—but he won’t, because  _ really, _ he has no right to. Plus, he thinks that should he  _ would, _ he would have to suffer the consequences of it.

“Yeah, honey, Mommy and I have to go back,” he responds quietly, and the corners of Sarah’s mouth quirk downwards and Steve smiles, reaching over to brush his thumb gently over her cheek. “But like she said, we’ll come get you, alright? We’ll come back after work.”

Sarah blinks and looks up at her mother. “Daddy come with you?” she asks softly, and Natasha hums and nods, pressing a kiss on her forehead.

“He’ll be with me, don’t worry,” she responds, her eyes flickering up at Steve who nods, and she smiles and looks back at Sarah. “I love you, okay? I’ll see you later.” She presses another kiss on Sarah’s cheek as the toddler turns in her mother’s arms, wrapping her arms around her mother’s neck in an embrace.

“Love you, Mommy.” Sarah murmurs, lifting her head to press a loud kiss on Natasha’s cheek, and Steve smiles at the sight. The toddler turns and crawls over to Steve’s arms as he catches her and embraces her as well, feeling a flutter in his chest when the little girl buries her face in his chest, her small hands resting on his chest.

“I’ll see you later, okay?” Steve says softly, and he risks pressing a kiss on the girl’s head, barely noticing Natasha’s small smile forming on her lips when she saw it. He brushes her soft hair as Sarah looks up at him and smiles. “We’ll come get you later.” he adds, as if in assurance, both to the toddler and to  _ himself, _ brushing his thumb gently on the girl’s cheek as the toddler nods.

“Okay.” Sarah responds softly, crawling off of Steve’s lap as he gets up and Natasha follows, both of them waving goodbye at their daughter as they leave the daycare and Sarah goes to the other kids to start babbling, and Steve wonders if she’s starting to babble about her newfound parent. He wonders what she talks about with the other kids, really, the things running through her mind and the things she actually tells to other people. He wonders if she had fun enough to tell others about him, if he was even worth talking about for the little girl’s perspective, if she knew the implication of having a father and what it means to have a father like him—who had never been there from the beginning and had only come around today.

“You don’t really have to  _ work, _ do you?” Natasha asks, tucking her hands inside her pockets as she looks at Steve, snapping away from his own thoughts as he looks down at her and he raises an eyebrow in question. “I mean, you don’t have an urgent and pending surgery or anything, just paperwork and post-ops?” she asks, and Steve shakes his head.

“No pending surgeries unless I get called in for an emergency consult,” he says, pressing the button back down to the surgical floor as Natasha stops beside him in front of the elevators. “W-why do you ask?” he asks, and Natasha shakes her head.

“I never really  _ did _ ask you if you wanted to spend the whole lunchtime and even  _ after _ with me and Sarah,” she says softly, stopping just in front of the elevators as she lets Steve press the button down, looking at her confusedly. “And she likes you, she  _ really _ likes you and wanted to spend time with you, so I hope you didn’t mind that you stayed longer than expected—longer than the initial lunch you invited me to go to before.” she says quietly, and Steve shakes his head.

“No, I don’t mind, of course—I loved it. I loved meeting her, and...and every single bit of it, so it’s fine. Everything’s fine,” he says, and Natasha nods, giving him a small smile before she looks back at the elevator. Steve clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck anxiously. “I-is it...is it fine with you, though? I mean...me spending lunch w-with you and Sarah, I mean the way she said it earlier your lunches seemed really personal—”

“Hey,  _ no, _ it’s fine,” Natasha assures gently, looking up at him as she lets out a soft chuckle. “It’s fine, really. It was  _ my _ idea, anyway, and...I did tell you I was gonna tell you about her, and I wasn’t really just going to plan on stopping on the ‘telling’ part.” She pauses and lets out a sigh. “I mean, Sarah deserves to get to know her father as well...so I’m, uh...I’m doing this for her, really.” she adds quietly, ducking her head as she looks down at her feet.

And Steve knows that, he does. He knows that Natasha’s bout of openness to connect Sarah to him, introduce him as  _ her _ father, is something she’s doing for the sake of her daughter and not exactly to make him feel good or feel better, not even as a form of acceptance of his earlier apologies. But try as he might, he couldn’t help but feel the unrightful sting in his heart even as he does his best to shrug it away and shove it off as something he  _ shouldn’t _ feel, that him meeting Sarah is already everything he could ever hope and ask for at this point, given his nonexistent progress so far in trying to make amends and fix what he had broken. He couldn’t help, still, but feel the drop in his heart at the mere reminder that the lightness he feels in his moments of bonding with both Sarah and Natasha are mere moments that could exist  _ only  _ in the presence of Sarah, that they are unlike any real families, which—

They are  _ not _ a family at all, period. But they could have. They could have, maybe, if he had done things a little differently, if he only chose better. He’s always wished he chose better, chose to stay rather than leave, chose to fight rather than give up, but never had he wished for it more  _ today. _

“I know,” Steve says quietly, looking down at his own feet in shame as the doors open, and he steps aside to allow Natasha to enter first before he follows, pressing the button to the surgical floor as they both watch the elevator doors close before going down. He ducks his head and tucks his hands in the pockets of his coat, as Natasha’s eyes remain staring at her shoes. “But I...I appreciate it, and...I’d wanna thank you, still, for giving this chance. For letting me...for letting me meet her.” He smiles as Natasha looks up at him. “She’s a wonderful kid, Nat. And I know she wouldn’t be one without you raising her to be so.” he says softly.

And Natasha can’t help but smile and feel her heart flutter at such a high praise, even if part of her knows he’s telling her this to butter her up, to make herself feel light around him by melting into his own words the way he’d always done so even in the past. Besides, all compliments that point towards her motherhood and Sarah had always felt like so even from the beginning, but she supposes, albeit begrudgingly, that it’s different coming from him—like a different kind of validation especially as it came from the father of their child.

_ Their _ child. God, she was only  _ her _ kid before, since when did she start referring to Sarah as  _ that? _

She chuckles softly and shakes her head, tucking a bit of her hair behind her ear. “Well, she was never a difficult baby to begin with,” she says, raising an eyebrow at him as the corner of her lips quirk upward. “I think she got that bit from  _ me, _ and not really from you.”

He laughs, and  _ God, _ his laugh—it’s  _ that _ laugh that sends down a warm whirlwind down to the pit of her stomach, the laugh that she had loved, the laugh she  _ loves, _ loves so much that she hates herself for it. “Well, she  _ is _ all you—a little Natasha.” he says, and she hums, unable to keep the smile on her face even as she looks back at the closed elevator doors.

“Not entirely,” she answers softly. “She’s you, too.”  _ From the hair to the slope of the nose, to the way she smiles and the sound of her laughter, to her love for Disney and her wonderful heart. _ She looks down at her feet once again. “She’s all the best of you.” she adds softly.

_ She’s all the best of the two of us. _

Natasha swallows down her throat and smiles up at Steve. “She likes you, Steve, she really does,” she tells him softly. “She’s always been an easy baby, a happy and friendly little girl especially to other people, but with you, it’s…” She shakes her head. “She’s different, and she may only be two but she’s smart, and she knows what it means to...what  _ you _ mean to...to her, a-and both of us, and…” She sighs, running her fingers through her hair as she shakes her head and releases a breath. Steve waits for her patiently, watching her as she looks away and swallows down her throat, and she quirks her lips to the side, her foot tapping furiously on the floor as she pauses. He knows she’s thinking, and whether she’s thinking of  _ what _ to say, or  _ whether _ she should say what’s in her mind, he’s not entirely sure, but he’s willing to bet it’s the latter, that something is in her mind, something about him, or something about  _ them, _ but she’s afraid of saying the wrong thing to him.

But she shouldn’t. Or at least  _ he _ thinks she shouldn’t, as he could take it. He can take it.

“I’m just saying don’t...don’t break her heart,” she tells him, looking back at him with wide glassy eyes. “Don’t...don’t leave her, don’t break her heart. You can...you can break mine all you want, all the time, you can.” Her voice cracks as she pauses, her eyes not leaving his, and he shakes his head lightly because  _ no, _ no, he doesn’t want to break her heart, and no he  _ won’t _ break their hearts anymore, he won’t. “But promise me you wouldn’t break hers.  _ Promise _ me you wouldn’t hurt her, and when you do, I’ll trust you on that.”

Her eyes are wide and imploring, as if searching his eyes for the answers to her questions, as if she doesn’t know. And perhaps maybe she  _ doesn’t _ know. Maybe she doesn’t know that he won’t ever break her heart, or maybe she doesn’t know if he’s gonna stay for good or not, and he  _ will. _ He won’t be able to let her know all of these through words, through him telling her verbally that he  _ does _ promise, and it’s a promise she can trust on because he doesn’t plan to go anywhere—not when his world is here, and not when the people that he loves are here. He won’t be able to force her to believe her by telling her through words that he won’t break her heart, but he supposes it’s a start, and it might not do anything much, might not do anything  _ yet, _ but it’s a start.

It’s a start of trust, and he’s working his way on rebuilding it.

“I promise,” he tells her softly with a nod. “I won’t break her heart. And I won’t break yours too, not anymore, I promise.”

Natasha’s heart aches at that, and she opens her mouth to say something in return, but really...it’s not exactly something you can easily respond to, not really something easy to think of a reply too. She sighs and shakes her head, because  _ no, _ he doesn’t know that. He said that too, three years ago and the years before, he told her that too and he didn’t know the things that happened to him would happen, never knew they would go through things that would break them apart, so he wouldn’t know. He  _ can’t _ know all of these things—how was  _ she _ supposed to know and believe him?

_ I can show you, and...and maybe then, you can. You can at your own time, and at your own pace. _

“Steve…” she whispers, shaking her head lightly, not exactly knowing what to say, and Steve gives her a small smile.

“I’m always gonna show up, remember?” he tells her softly with a small nod. “Always.”

He told her that yesterday, told her that with a hopeful and gentle tone in his voice, as if he was going to do it, as if he was going to do it  _ this _ time for  _ her. _ But in spite of the hopefulness and gentleness, she somehow still refuses to believe it’s all real, that it’s all happening and it’s all something he  _ can _ possibly do. “I don’t know if I can believe that just yet.” she tells him quietly, and he ducks his head momentarily, as if thinking of a reply, before he lifts his head and gives her a gentle smile.

“It’s okay.” he responds softly.

“But I want to,” she continues quietly. “I  _ really _ want to.”

Steve’s smile widens as he nods, and the elevator doors open and they find themselves back on the surgical floor. “You will,” he responds, allowing Natasha to step out of the elevator first before he follows, and once in the lobby, Natasha looks back at him as he takes a deep breath. “I-I’ll see you later? Before you go with Sarah?” he asks quietly, and Natasha hums and nods, giving him a gentle smile.

“I’ll meet you in the lounge, maybe? Or I’ve a lecture with the second-year residents,” she says, and Steve nods. “You can drop by Hill’s Hall at three if you want.” She winks and Steve laughs softly, feeling his heart flutter ridiculously in his chest, especially as he watches her smile widely.

“Okay if I bring post-op records? I promise to work at the back of the hall.” he teases and Natasha chuckles softly and shakes her head as she smiles.

“Who was it who told me if there’s a clinical lecture, I should take full advantage of it and listen?” she asks, raising an eyebrow as he laughs, knowing very well it had been one of the first few things he had told her when she had still been a resident in her earlier years. He chuckles and ducks his head as he smiles, and she grins widely as she nods. “I’ll see you later, Steve.” she says softly, and he nods, watching her walk to the attendings’ lounge before he walks over to the nurses’ station to retrieve his post-op records.

He looks at the clock, sees it’s nearly a quarter to three and when he turns his head, he sees Natasha with her laptop walking out of the lounge and turning to a corner that would lead to the lecture hall. He contemplates whether he would sit in or not, whether she would listen to her four-hour lecture on neurosurgery or he could just wait for her in the lounge so he could work in peace.

But peace, he thinks, is not entirely a guarantee knowing who else can walk inside the lounge, and what other things can happen, what other conversations and arguments can ensue when he’s there and not doing anything. He knows peace isn’t also a guarantee between him and Natasha, not when he knows she’s still hurting, not when he knows she still can’t trust him, but for  _ him, _ at least, he feels at peace with her, when listening to her speak, when he hears her voice.

He ends up going to her lecture, anyway, getting to the hall at exactly three in the afternoon, when all of the residents are all seated and settled in the first few rows of the hall, and Natasha is in front with her slideshow set up. Her eyes land on him when he settles at the back row of the hall, putting his records on the seat beside him as he offers her a small smile, raising his hand slightly to give her a small wave, and she smiles widely at him, looking away momentarily to purse her lips in an attempt to get rid of the growing smile on her face. She shakes her head fondly and looks back at the interns and residents, and she clears her throat to begin her lecture.

He listens to the best of his abilities, juggling between listening to her lecture about clinical neurosurgery and filling up post-op records of his patients—a pile that’s not too big, his reports neither too long, but it’s taking him a while to finish, as he also finds himself in moments of being too mesmerized watching Natasha in front speak her lectures that he forgets, for a moment, that he’s there to work  _ in peace, _ in whatever connotation that is. The four hours don’t take long, at least for  _ him _ it doesn’t, and when those four hours are over, he was only able to accomplish two records out of the four he had brought with him. If it were in a normal circumstance, he would’ve finished those in less than an hour.

But this isn’t just  _ any _ normal circumstance, and he knows that.

She walks over to him when the residents all file out of the hall, and he stands, his post-op records in his arms as she smiles at him. “D’you get all of those done here?” she asks, nodding over at the records pressed against his chest, and he chuckles as he shakes his head.

“I think I’ve come to realize why I’ve always said to never bring work in clinical lectures, ‘cause you never get them done,” he says with a chuckle and she hums as she smiles up at him widely, her head tilting to the side. “And I never got to  _ fully _ listen to your lectures too since I was trying so hard to work.”

Natasha hums, grinning widely. “What got you distracted? Me, or your work?” she asks teasingly, raising an eyebrow and Steve laughs and hums, as if contemplating.

_ The work, _ of course. Because all he ever wanted to focus on is  _ her. _

“Depends on which time of today are you asking.” he responds, and Natasha scoffs and rolls her eyes fondly as Steve laughs, and he follows her out of the door of the hall and back into the attendings’ lounge, deciding to drop their things off before proceeding up to get Sarah from daycare.

The toddler’s face lights up upon seeing her parents, and she immediately runs towards her mother’s arms as Natasha lifts her up to her hip to press a kiss on her cheek. She transfers the toddler to Steve, especially when the little girl extends her arms over to him, and he takes her happily as Natasha watches him brush his nose against the toddler’s cheek before pressing his lips on the side of her head. Sarah giggles and wraps her arms around Steve’s neck, resting her head on his shoulder as Steve brushes his hand on her back, a gentle smile on his face as he looks up at her and meets her eyes, and she smiles back at him. Her little girl doesn’t just  _ like _ him, she  _ loves _ having him around, and she can only imagine the bond they would form, and the happiness he could bring their little girl in the long run.

_ The long run. _ Jesus, since  _ when _ did she start thinking  _ this _ as a long run thing, and not just a one-time thing?

And it’s apparently  _ not _ a one-time thing at all. The days they spend with this routine—where Steve spends his lunches with both Natasha and Sarah, him coming with her to kiss her goodbye before she and Natasha leave for home—stretches for days that eventually turned into weeks. At some point during the second week or so of their consistent routine, mornings have turned to Steve waiting for them in front of the hospital building, with a cup of coffee in one hand to bring to Natasha, and both of them bringing Sarah up to daycare. Their lunches would stretch longer, mostly depending on surgery schedules, but now Steve had been more careful in scheduling surgeries, making sure to make his lunchtimes free so he can meet with Natasha and they can spend lunches in daycare. Their conversations would stretch even longer too, especially those between Steve and Natasha, who had both come out of the "small talk" phase and instead started talking more on _bigger_ things, mostly through banters especially on discussions about Sarah entering preschool soon, or Sarah's napping patterns because of how long their lunches are becoming. On evenings before their shifts would end, Natasha would wait for Steve in the lounge so they could fetch Sarah, so he could say goodbye to their little girl before Natasha would go home.

It’s not exactly something Natasha dislikes—this new routine. She doesn’t dislike it, nor could she ever think she could admit to saying that she loves it either. What she  _ does _ love, however, is seeing Sarah’s smile and hearing her small light giggles every time he would make her laugh. She loves the moments they spend together too—her and Steve playing with Sarah after they go for lunch, pretending like they  _ were _ indeed a real, functional and ordinary family. She loves the way he would bring her a cup of coffee and press a kiss on Sarah’s head when he would wait for them early in the morning. She loves the way her little girl’s face would light up whenever she would see Steve, even though it would still make her heart ache ever so faintly, especially when she would watch Steve hold her and press a kiss on her head and their little girl would smile widely up at him, just like how she always does when  _ she _ would kiss her little girl on her head, as if he had never gone, as if he had known her since her birth, as if  _ no _ time had passed by between them and they had always been together.

Which is a fantasy, of course, like the fantasy she lives in during their lunches where they would play with their daughter, and she’s scared that perhaps  _ this _ new routine she’s slowly getting used to  _ could _ turn into a fantasy as well, and she’ll wake up to find everything untrue—like how it had always been in her dreams for the past three years.

It’s a fantasy she still wants, a fantasy she would  _ love _ for it to come true, still.

She breaks out of her thoughts when she hears the lounge door open, and she smiles when she sees Bucky walk in, the man sighing and smiling back as he closes the door behind him. “You seem  _ not _ busy today,” he comments, walking over to the round table where she is working with her laptop on, and she hums, tilting her head as she smiles widely up at him. “Or you never seemed to be busy for the past few days, except for minor surgeries and minor recurring patients, so I’ve heard from your favorite resident.” he adds, raising an eyebrow as he sits across from her, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat as Natasha chuckles.

“Why, did she complain about the number of surgeries I’ve dumped on her for the week?” Natasha asks, raising an eyebrow as she closes the laptop in front of her to cross her arms over her chest, mirroring Bucky, as the ortho surgeon grins and shakes his head.

“More of complaining how many aneurysms she needs to clip,” Bucky responds, and Natasha laughs softly as she shakes her head, and Bucky smiles, nodding over to her. “So I take that you  _ really _ haven’t been busy at all?” he asks.

“I’ve been doing things, and I still  _ do _ have surgeries,” she says, and Bucky hums as he nods. Natasha pauses, tilting her head slightly to the side as she huffs out a quiet chuckle and ducks her head. “I’m guessing you’ve heard some things, and it’s why you’re asking.” she says, lifting her head back to look at him.

“It’s one of many things, the first one of which is...well, I haven’t seen you in a long time,” Bucky responds, and Natasha gives him a small smile. “And the others...well, you’re right about me hearing about something, and I wanted to make sure you’re alright, how you’re holding up and all—you know, like  _ your _ person.” he adds with a smile.

Natasha smiles at that, and she swallows down her throat. “Then tell me what you’ve heard.” she tells him softly, and Bucky takes a deep breath as he looks away momentarily, before turning his eyes on her.

“I’ve heard plenty of things, Nat,” he tells her softly. “But one of which...is when I’ve heard that you’re not the only one who visits Sarah up in daycare anymore, that you’re not alone whenever you come up, not alone whenever you bring her there.” He pauses. “If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

Natasha swallows down her throat and looks away, releasing a slow breath as she quirks her mouth. “There’s nothing to talk about, Buck,” she tells him, giving him a small smile. “This thing isn’t something that I’m doing for me...not even for him, this is something for Sarah.”

Bucky tips his chin up and swallows down his throat. “Do you really believe in that?” he asks softly, and Natasha furrows her eyebrows slightly at him.

“You don’t?” she asks quietly.

“I’m asking if  _ you _ do, because I only believe in the things you believe in, Nat,” Bucky tells her gently with a small smile. “And I know people can say one thing and believe in another, the way  _ you _ say you’re doing this for Sarah only and not for you and Steve...but do you  _ really _ believe that?” he asks.

Does she?

She remembers the past few weeks, of how easy it became around him, how they would always smile and laugh as if they were thrown back to the way they were before, how she would catch him looking at her with  _ that _ look on his face, how  _ she _ would watch him with Sarah and just think of how it can work—how  _ they _ can work because of how he makes Sarah happy…

And because of how happy he makes  _ her, _ too, whether she admits it loudly or not.

“I don’t know,” she tells him honestly, shaking her head slightly as Bucky nods, and she releases a breath, running her fingers through her hair. “I don’t know, Buck, I…” She sighs and shakes her head, looking back at Bucky and meeting his eyes as she lifts a shoulder to shrug. “I’m not exactly sure if I’m...if I’m doing the right thing, you know? I’ve felt like drowning ever since he came back and I told myself I wanted to swim this time, and that I wanna be better and  _ feel _ better, feel lighter than how I’d been before. Bobbi told me to forgive him and I’m trying...or I don’t know if I already  _ did, _ I…” She shakes her head. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Buck. I don’t know if what I’m doing is something that’s even right.” she says.

Floating, she thinks, is what she’s been doing. Floating and unable to put her feet on the ground, floating with the wind and just going with it. She thinks what she’s doing is good, what she’s doing is something out of her own free will, out of her free intuition, kindness and love. But somehow, she still thinks what she’s doing is...lacking, something that she’s not sure is right, something she’s not entirely at all  _ sure _ will merit her something good even if she’s convinced that  _ this _ is the best possible way things could end up.

“What do you think you’re not doing right?” he asks, tilting his head to the side in question. “Letting him meet Sarah?”

Natasha shakes her head. It’s not that...right? It isn’t that at all. Bucky nods, as if in understanding. “You know what you’re doing, and you  _ know _ in your head what it is that you claim you’re not doing right,” he tells her carefully, and Natasha takes a shaky breath as she bites the inside of her cheek and purses her lips tightly. “So what is it? That thing you  _ know _ that you’re doing, but you don’t know if it’s right.”

_ Loving, _ she thinks. Loving him, and loving  _ this, _ loving this fantasy and the fact that he is Sarah’s father and he’s becoming one more and more each day for the past weeks. She doesn’t know what she’s  _ doing; _ loving him and telling him she loves him and showing it through her words and the way they talk and the way she looks at him, and loving this fantasy,  _ living _ in it as if it were real and permanent, as if it were something that has always been there, something that would last for a lifetime even though she’s not sure if it will.

And wanting  _ so _ badly to. She doesn’t know if  _ wanting _ to last it for a lifetime is right, if  _ all _ of these are right. She had been the one to decide on this, for all of this to happen and for all of this to start, and now she’s here and she’s living it—this  _ amazing _ fantasy that’s making her feel happy and making her feel loved—she doesn’t know if she’s  _ right _ to have it, if she’s right to want it, if she’s right to love him like how it had been before.

And with the way Bucky is looking at her expectedly and knowingly, his baby blue eyes almost piercing through her as he looks at her with immense patience and kindness, she knows that he knows, and she knows that he doesn’t  _ really _ expect him to tell her what it is if she doesn’t want to. She’s grateful to him for that.

“I’m just scared, Buck,” she relents on telling him, her voice quiet and barely above a whisper, only enough for Bucky to hear her. “I’m scared of the fantasy, of this...this  _ want, _ these dreams, and me seeing almost all of it come true.” she tells him, and he nods understandingly. “I just don’t wanna screw this up, you know? I’m scared I’d be so fixated on this fantasy that I’ll just...freefall in love with him once again.” She shakes her head. “I just don’t want to have my heart broken by him again.”

Natasha swallows down her throat and looks down at her hands, as Bucky waits for her patiently, before he could say anything, before he’s welcome to say anything. “And I’m scared ‘cause I just can’t help but think that what if...somewhere  _ out _ there, there’s a better guy, you know?” she asks, looking back up at Bucky, the corner of her mouth quirking upward. “There’s someone better out there, and because I’m so fixated on this fantasy of a family, this love that won’t go away for him even from the past years, I never got to meet him? What if there’s a better guy, who would always treat me right, never break my heart and never leave me? I’ll miss my chance because I’m here thinking— _ forcing _ myself to believe that the father of my daughter is the  _ right _ one for me...even though he’d hurt me, he’d broken my heart and left me.” She shakes her head. “Isn’t the right one  _ not _ supposed to hurt you?”

Bucky pauses for a moment, swallowing down his throat as he lets out a slow breath and he shakes his head, lowering his head slightly. “I don’t think so,” he responds quietly, and he looks back at Natasha who furrows her eyebrows slightly at him, and he sighs. “I know they say that real love isn’t supposed to hurt, the cliches telling us real love is euphoric and not destroy you, but it’s the quite the opposite, I think. When we love a person...the  _ right _ one, we allow ourselves to be destroyed—to be vulnerable to them, the same way they allow themselves to be vulnerable to us. It’s what causes the hurt—the vulnerability and openness. It wouldn’t be love if it wouldn’t.”

Bucky gives Natasha a small smile as he shrugs, and Natasha sighs as she looks away. “Steve’s always been the right one for you, Nat, even from the start he’s always been the right one for you, and you the right one for him. There  _ were _ better guys too,  _ lots _ of them...those who wouldn’t break your heart, those who won’t leave you, those who will treat you right. Some of them...well, some of them you’ve probably already met...” he trails off, and Natasha looks back at him, her mouth parted slightly as he sighs and gives her a small tight smile. “But none of them would ever  _ be _ the right one.” he tells her quietly as he swallows down his throat.

Natasha frowns slightly, shaking her head. “How are you so sure about that?” she asks quietly.

He just smiles at her, and his one shoulder lifts into a small shrug. “You wouldn’t have waited until today to open your heart again, would you?” he asks gently. “Though it’s always been open, but it’s been open only for him.”

Natasha looks away, the corners of her eyes stinging and her chest feeling heavy as she shakes her head. “He’s the one, but I wish he wasn’t.” she says quietly, and Bucky huffs out a small chuckle.

_ Yeah, _ he thinks. He wishes so too.

“He is,” he says as he nods. “And it’s okay to be scared of this—new beginnings are always scary. He broke your heart and left, and maybe who’s to say he won’t do it again?” Natasha looks back at him and he gives her a small smile as he sighs and gets up from his seat, walking over beside Natasha as she follows him with her wide glassy eyes. “You have a big heart, Nat, one that’s so full of love and kindness that never runs out.” He lays a hand on her shoulder and gives it a light squeeze. “Don’t let him be the reason it will run out.”

Natasha nods and looks down, laying her hand over his and giving it a light squeeze. She barely feels his hand sliding away from hers as he begins to walk away, until she looks back at him when Bucky lays a hand on the door knob of the lounge. “Buck?” she calls softly, and Bucky looks back at her, his eyes wide and glassy, baby blue eyes piercing yet gentle and patient—always have been gentle and patient, especially with her.

“I’m sorry,” she tells him softly. “I’m sorry.”  _ For not seeing it, for only seeing him. _

Bucky blinks, pausing before he gives her a nod and a gentle smile. “I’m sorry too,” he tells her. Natasha watches his adam’s apple bob in his throat as he smiles widely at her. “I’ll see you later, Nat.”

By the end of that day’s shift, Natasha waits—as per usual for the last couple of weeks—by the elevators, her arms crossed over her chest as she allows herself to mull over Bucky’s words inside the lounge.  _ You wouldn’t have waited until today to open your heart again, would you? _ She  _ had _ waited, waited without knowing, opened herself without knowing, most especially now how he’s starting to become so integrated in her life—in both  _ her _ and Sarah’s lives, and how he fits so nicely in it, almost as if like a missing puzzle piece that was always meant to fit in theirs.

She doesn’t notice him walking over to her, and only when he’s  _ right _ in front of her, handing her a Kit Kat Chunky bar that he took out his pocket did she notice, as she blinks several times, snapping away from her own thoughts before she looks down at his open hand, revealing her favorite chocolate bar in his hand. She looks back at him, and he gives her a small, gentle smile. “I know it’s been a rather boring day for you, but I figured you might still need a break,” he says, and she can see his eyes sparkling as his smile widens. “So have a break—have a Kit Kat.”

Natasha laughs softly, shaking her head as she takes the chocolate bar from his hand, and she doesn’t see his smile widening at hearing her laugh, taking the chocolate bar from his hand and raising it up in hers. “Did you really just buy one so you can make a corny joke out of their tagline?” she asks teasingly, and Steve chuckles, shaking his head as he tucks his hands back in his coat pockets.

“Not entirely. It’s always been your favorite, right?” he asks, and she hums, putting the chocolate bar inside her pocket as she smiles, and he grins. “‘Sides, I got one for Sarah too, if it’s alright.” He takes out another Kit Kat—the smaller one that’s only split into two. “I heard she quite takes after her  _ mother _ that way.” he says with an amused smile and a raised eyebrow, and she smiles and nods.

“That, among  _ many _ other wonderful things.” she says teasingly, raising an eyebrow, before turning to press the up button on the elevator, and he chuckles as he nods when the elevator doors open and she steps in.

“That, I couldn’t agree more.” he says, following her inside the elevator as he presses the button to the floor of the daycare, and she huffs out a chuckle as she shakes her head, ducking her head when she feels warmth on her cheeks.

_ Damn this man. _

Sarah runs to Steve’s arms upon the toddler seeing her parents, as Steve lifts the toddler and presses his lips on the side of her head. He looks over to Natasha who smiles at the sight, walking over beside Steve so she could rub their little girl’s back and press a kiss on her cheek. He hears her murmur about how much she missed and loves their little girl, and their toddler giggling in response, telling her that they  _ literally _ just had lunch and played this afternoon like they always do, but Natasha just shrugs their smart girl’s response, still insisting on how much she looks forward to their snuggles later tonight. All of this unfolds as Steve just watches, his heart beating fast and fluttering in his chest at the way Natasha smiles at Sarah in his arms, at how close she is to him that she’s already unconsciously leaning against him as she brushes Sarah’s blonde hair away from her face, speaking to her softly, gently and patiently, while their daughter giggles and wiggles joyfully in his arms.

He almost wishes for this to never end like how it always had for the past few weeks—their moments as a small family ending the same as their shifts do, and Steve would watch Natasha and Sarah go home while he is left alone to go back to his. But he knew of all of these as a consequence of what he’d done—for leaving and breaking their hearts—and he knew himself to be lucky enough to ever even spend time with them in the first place, so he pushes his thoughts and wishes aside. Instead allows himself to immerse in the moment of the  _ here and now: _ this last moment of the day where he gets to hold Sarah and have Natasha close to him, where he lets himself believe this fantasy to be true.

It’s not really too long until it’s over, even if it was already close to eight in the evening when Steve hands Sarah back to Natasha once they step outside the hospital and in front of the parking lot, and he brushes the little girl’s hair gently, leaning to press a gentle kiss on her head as the toddler looks up at him, giving him a small and sleepy smile as she rests her head on her mother’s shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?” he tells the toddler who hums and nods, and Natasha looks up at him with a smile as she rubs the toddler’s back gently. “Night night, Sarah.” he says softly, and Sarah smiles widely.

“Night night, Daddy,” Sarah says, and she hums when Steve leans down to press a kiss on her forehead. “Say night night to Mommy too.” she says softly, sticking her lower lip out as she lifts her to look at both of her parents.

Steve chuckles and nods. “I will, sweetie, don’t worry,” he says softly, even as he feels his heart pounding fast and loudly against his chest. His eyes flicker to Natasha’s eyes, as he smiles widely and gives her a small nod. “Good night, Nat.” he says softly, and Natasha smiles and nods back.

“Good night, Steve. We’ll see you tomorrow.” she says, and Steve smiles and nods, and he begins to turn and walk over to his car when he hears the toddler grumble and groan.

“Daddy!” she calls, and Steve pauses in his tracks to look over at the grumbling and frowning toddler in Natasha’s arms. His eyes widen as he walks back to them and looks over to Natasha, whose eyes are also as wide and confused as him. Steve lifts a hand to brush away some hair off the toddler’s face as the two-year-old pouts, her frown deepening. “Kiss Mommy night night too!” she says stubbornly.

And Steve’s eyes widen, his heart skipping a beat as his eyes flicker over to Natasha’s, her own eyes widening at their own little girl’s stubborn request. Steve shakes his head slightly, as if unwilling to let himself believe in what Sarah is requesting for. “Babe...I already said night night to Mommy already.” he points out gently, but the two-year-old shakes her head stubbornly.

“No kiss Mommy night night!” Sarah grumbles, pouting. “Mommy and Daddy kiss night night!”

Natasha sighs helplessly and looks over at Steve, and he sees her cheeks blushing slightly with a faint tinge of pink, as she shakes her head. “You don’t have to, Steve, it’s—” He cuts her off by pressing a kiss on her cheek, anyway, and Natasha pauses in her sentence as Sarah hums and grins in triumph and satisfaction.

Of course he has to, because it’s what their little girl wants, and it’s what  _ he _ kinda wants too.

The blush forming on her cheeks and the wide smile she’s trying so hard to suppress make him want to think that  _ maybe— _ just maybe, she also _really_ wants it too.

“Good night, Nat,” he repeats again softly, smiling gently at her as she gives him a small smile as she clears her throat, and raises an eyebrow at their toddler. “We good now, little miss?” Steve asks Sarah who hums and nods.

“Night night, Daddy!” Sarah says, resting her head back on her mother’s shoulder as Natasha chuckles, rubbing her small back and pressing a kiss on the side of her head as she looks up at Steve through her eyelashes.

“Good night again, Steve.” she says softly, and he smiles back as he nods, watching as Natasha is the first to walk over to her car—probably before whatever else Sarah could request and say, and he swallows down his throat as he tucks his hands in the pockets of his jacket, watching Natasha press another kiss on the toddler’s head before stopping by in front of her red Prius. He watches as she lowers herself to secure Sarah in the babyseat, putting her things and buckling their toddler securely before she gets in the car to turn the engine on and pull out of the parking lot.

Even as he watches her leave, he doesn’t think he could forget the feel of her skin against his lips, especially after the kiss he gave her when their toddler insisted. He wishes it could be more, wishes he could give her more if she allows him to, but he knows he couldn’t. Not yet. And even if he wants to, even if he  _ wants _ to try to give him more, he doesn’t think he can risk ruining what they already have—a good starting friendship as they do their best to co-parent (not so much for  _ his _ part, but he really doesn’t know how to put it in words) their toddler daughter oblivious to the drama.

And so even if it hurts him, even as the guilt of what he had done and what had happened as a result of that weighs down heavily on his chest—a thing recurring every single day since he had met Sarah—overwhelming, sometimes, the love and luck he feels of being given this chance, he pushes it down. He pushes it down until he could no longer feel the hurt, and for how long he could push it down and hold it together until the pain subsides, he’s not entirely sure. But who was he to complain, really?

They’re here because of  _ him, _ aren’t they?

He finds himself, in the midst of his recurring overwhelming and unwavering guilt, in the bar across the hospital where Fettuccine Fiesta had once been and where he had his reconciliation with Tony. It’s another quiet night, and yet again, he wonders if this place would  _ ever _ become noisy and lively enough like the previous bars he and the others would usually go to in the past years—back when things had been simpler, younger and nicer. It’s unlikely, though, seeing as prices of the drinks in this place are relatively more expensive than the other existing ones in the block, and given that the people around the place, at the exact moment he is in, seem to also be in the same place and circumstance as he is in.

People like him—those who already have too much noise in the form of voices in his head reminding him of the things he did wrong, and the consequences that it resulted to—don’t really need  _ that _ much noise anymore. But who was he to judge them, really? They could probably just hate the noise, anyway, too.

He loses track of time too, mostly because there aren’t any watches in the place that would help him know of the time, and he doesn’t ever really have the habit of taking his phone out unless he’s on-call or at work and somebody is paging for him. He loses track of whether he’s been here for an hour or two already, of whether he’s mulling over the guilt of leaving Natasha or leading Sharon on, or maybe just a confounded guilt with a combination of both. He loses track of what he’s thinking about, of whether he’s thinking of the kiss  _ she _ had given him not too long ago in their usual place following her confession of love, or his small kiss to her earlier, when she would have deserved more than what he could give. But mostly, he loses track, too, of the number of double malt whiskey glasses he’d consumed, and for a second he furrows his eyebrows in confusion, hoping he’d brought enough cash to pay his tab as he doesn’t  _ really _ want to use his credit card to pay for a lonely and spontaneous night drinking in a bar.

Or on second thought, maybe he will. If it gets  _ really _ bad enough.

He lets out a slight grunt, feeling light in his head and his throat burning as he raises a finger, gesturing over to the bartender as he nudges his empty glass yet again. The bartender, the same young freckled man with curly brown hair, sighs, putting down the glass he’s wiping as he takes the bottle of double malt whiskey and walks over in front of Steve.

“It’s your eighth glass for the night, sir, and it’s only half past ten in the evening,” the bartender says, pouring some whiskey into his glass. “Hope you wouldn’t drive yourself home tonight, or a DUI would be waiting for you.”

Steve chuckles quietly as he shakes his head. “Nah, I can’t get drunk from this,” he says, his words almost slurring together as he clears his throat and takes a sip from his glass. He blinks his eyes several times and shakes his head, attempting to eliminate the dizziness he’s starting to feel. “Or I will, but I won’t drive myself home, I’ll take a cab.”  _ And leave his car in the hospital? Great. _

The young bartender nods. “If you need anything else, sir, just tell me.” he says, putting the bottle back as he begins to walk away from him.

Steve clears his throat. “If you love someone, you tell ‘em, right?” he blurts out, and the young bartender looks at him—and Steve realizes the bartender couldn’t really be older than twenty-five perhaps,  _ very _ young, still, yet he knows of men too who  _ look _ young but really aren’t, so he does his best to not be too quick to judge. “That’s what they always say—if you love someone, you don’t wait a day for you to tell ‘em, ‘cause you’ll never know what might happen tomorrow.”

The young bartender blinks at Steve, pausing where he is as he looks away in contemplation. “Isn’t that what they say in TV shows and movies?” he asks, lifting one shoulder to a small shrug. “Even if you’re scared it’s not the right thing, or it’ll cause problems, or it’ll burn your life to the ground—you say it, and you say it loud?” He raises his eyebrows. “And then you go from there.”

Steve pauses, mulling over the young man’s words. “Does it count if I call her? And tell her that?” he asks, taking his phone out of his pocket as the bartender sighs and shakes his head.

“I don’t think so if you’re drunk,” the young bartender says. “Whoever she is, I’d think she deserves to know it sober and more personal coming from you. Not on a drunken night over a phone call.” He shrugs. “It’s not exactly promising the same kind of results it usually does on movies, and there’s plenty of those in this pub alone.”

Steve shakes his head, fishing out a fifty-dollar bill from his pocket and putting it down on the counter, sliding it over to the bartender. “I’m not drunk,” he says, getting up from his seat as he grips on the edge of the counter to regain his balance, especially when the room starts spinning. “Just a ‘lil tipsy, but  _ not _ drunk.” He downs the rest of the contents of his glass as he lets out a sigh, feeling the burn down his throat and to his stomach, and he proceeds out of the pub—pushing the door open and shivering when a cold win rushes past him as he takes out his phone.

_ If you love someone you tell ‘em. _ He slides his thumb down his contacts, down to her name—Dr. Natasha Romanoff—it says, as it should, because it’s who she is. And they’re only down to colleagues, co-workers and nothing more, but that was the thing. He  _ wants _ more, and he knows he doesn’t deserve it yet,  _ not _ yet, but how can he be so sure he would be given that if she doesn’t know? Because it’s not like he’d already told her. It’s not like she  _ already _ knew, did she?

He presses her name on his contacts, and he sighs, feeling his heart pounding fast against his chest as he listens to the phone ring once, and then twice, then thrice...and she still hasn’t picked out. He wonders if this is a wrong move, if  _ this _ will screw up what they already have, and  _ her _ not picking up in the first few rings would mean he should just hang up so he could just  _ stop. _ He wonders, too, if she’s already asleep after putting Sarah to sleep, or maybe she’s busy working on something, or  _ his _ number is an unknown number on her phone—

The line clicks, and he goes straight to her voicemail. “Hi, this is Natasha Romanoff, please leave a message after the beep.” it says, and 

Steve’s heart skips a beat, and he takes a moment, his eyes widening as he feels his hands getting cold. “Nat? I-It’s...it’s Steve. Steve Rogers,” he says, unsure whether she had his number saved in her phone, uncertain of whether she has it even as a colleague. “I, uh...you’re probably asleep, or you wouldn’t pick up my call, but...I just wanted to speak to you, ‘cause I want to,  _ no—need _ to tell you something, and I don’t...I don’t know if I could wait until tomorrow to say it. ‘Cause I recently...I had a conversation with...with someone and he told me that I should say it out loud,  _ not _ wait for any time longer, so...so here goes.”

Steve sighs and purses his lips together, and he watches the cars pass by him, watches the people going in and out of the hospital across from where he is, contemplating what to say and  _ how _ to say it. “Nat, I’m in love with you,” he says quietly, his eyes trained on the hospital name glowing on top of the building as he releases a breath. “I’ve been in love with you since the beginning, and I don’t think I’ve ever stopped loving you since then.” He pauses, swallowing down his throat as he looks down at his feet. “I don’t really know, I...I thought I’d just let you know...now, now more than ever, I think. I love you, and I love Sarah, and I thought I’d just...I’d just tell you that.”

And there’s plenty more other things he wants to say,  _ lots _ of other ways he could’ve said it too, but he said it as such,  _ only _ said it as such, but he knows the words have never been truer than ever. He loves her, and he loves Sarah, and he knows she loves him too, but she needs to know that he does too— _ more _ than ever, in case she doesn’t know. An ambulance passes by Steve as he watches it drive by the hospital, and he allows his mind to drift and wonder who could be on-call to treat this patient, or  _ what _ the patient had suffered, or who this could be…

“I would tell you this over and over again, because of how true it is, and I’d show you over and over again if I have to, to make you believe in it, to  _ let _ you believe in it. And I  _ will _ show you, not only to let you believe in it but because it’s true, and because I want to, and because it’s what you deserve,” he continues. “I love you. I love you and your heart, one that’s so full of love and kindness, and...and sometimes I don’t know if I think I deserve all of those, but you still give it anyway. I love you, and I love the little family we’ve created...and I want it to last for a lifetime, and  _ this _ time, I’d mean it. I would  _ mean _ the lifetime.” He pauses and he sighs. “And I think that’s it. I’ll...I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?” He presses the end button, and he releases a slow breath, putting the phone back in his pocket as he looks down at his feet.

He’s unsure of what he did, really, of _ whether _ what he said, or what he did was right, was something she deserves, something she  _ needs, _ or if it’s something that could only serve himself. He’s unsure what will happen, what  _ she _ would feel if she would wake up and listen to it, if she would feel good about it, or if she would delete it after hearing it, pretend it didn’t happen or she didn’t receive it come tomorrow when they see each other again. But, he supposes, whatever happens will happen, and even so, he will stand by what he said, he would still do the things he told her he would do, especially  _ that _ of letting her believe in his love for her, and making  _ this _ one  _ this _ time last for a lifetime.

He wishes it would make her feel good, but you know what they say—sometimes wishes, and more so  _ fantasies, _ don’t really come true most of the time. It’s the cruelty of the universe, really, and unfortunately, it’s the kind of cruelty that exists in both Steve and Natasha’s world.

She listened while he spoke in the voicemail, and in the moment she heard of what he’d called for, what he had wanted to say, she was thankful she didn’t pick up the phone when he called. She was grateful enough for the post-op records she took home and had been accomplishing since putting Sarah to bed, until when he had called, enough to keep her preoccupied and not notice her phone ringing until his voice came in when his voicemail automatically played. She’s thankful. Because she wouldn’t know what she would say if she would hear him tell her all of those things—about him loving her and Sarah, about him loving their family, about him wanting their family to last for a lifetime…

She’s thankful she didn’t pick up, because if she had, then he would hear her sniffle and sob, like what she had been doing just listening to his voicemail, listening to the things she’d always wanted him to tell her, the things she’d always  _ dreamed _ he would say ever since he left. She’s thankful she didn’t answer the call, and left him on voicemail, because she knows he  _ meant _ to say those things to make her feel good, to make her feel loved, a way for them to move forward, a way for  _ him _ to do better—but it’s not how it is, not how he tries to make it seem to be, not how it’s supposed to  _ feel _ like.

She never thought it would  _ hurt, _ that it would be painful—to hear the words you’ve always wanted to hear from the man you’ve always wanted it to come from. She never thought it would crush her heart, have it rip to pieces in smaller fragments than it already had been before. She thought it would mend it, as it  _ should, _ on the contrary, but it didn’t. And as Natasha thinks, as she wipes her eyes, taking shaky breaths as she looks at the phone on the table, it’s not even the  _ words _ that ripped her heart out, not even the things he said that destroyed her...

He confessed to her in voicemail,  _ professed _ what should be the world’s greatest words, via a  _ phone call _ —the same way he had told her the  _ worst _ words she had ever heard in her life, as if this was some piece-of-shit irony she’s supposed to feel better for. As if there weren’t any  _ more _ opportunities for him to say it in person, when there had been plenty, most especially for the past few weeks when things have been going uphill and going great. Was it too much to wish for more? Too much to wish he had said it better, told her  _ all _ of these in a much better way, rather than the  _ same _ way that caused them to be here in the first place?

She closes all the post-op records and picks up her phone, her thumb hovering over to Steve’s voicemail in her phone, and with a sigh, she deletes it, even if it pains her heart, and even if it makes her heart ache so badly. She gets up from her seat, leaving her records and her phone on the dining room table, dragging her feet over to her bedroom as she lays beside Sarah, pulling the toddler closer to her as she presses her lips on her hair and she sighs, allowing the pain in her heart to lull her to sleep, to  _ tire _ her to sleep.

_ I'm sorry, _ _Steve,_ she thinks. _Maybe not tonight._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think!


	14. Taking Chances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm very sorry for posting late :( like i said life has been weird hehe but here it is + its a really long chapter so i hope you'd bear with it!

“Sarah, sweetie, no running, please!”

But her daughter doesn’t listen, of course, and her heart starts pounding really fast as she watches the toddler make a beeline across the parking lot and to the driveway, her heart skipping a beat and finally  _ resting _ back to its own normal pace when she reaches Steve. Natasha lets out a relieved sigh as she eventually catches on, watching as Steve crouches down and presses a kiss on Sarah’s forehead, brushing her hair gently and murmuring something to the toddler before she giggles and bounces on her feet, murmuring something back to her father that makes Steve smile widely and nod.

“Hi,” Steve greets softly, as soon as Natasha reaches both of them in front of the hospital entrance, looking up at her as he straightens himself, and reaches his hand holding a cup of coffee, his soft smile widening. “The usual, of course, for you.” he says softly, and despite herself, Natasha can feel her heart flutter inside her chest, the corners of her mouth quirking up a little as she looks into his bright sparkling eyes as she takes the cup from his hand.

“You shouldn’t have waited for us,” she says quietly, watching as Steve leans down to lift Sarah to his hip, pressing a kiss on the side of her head as the toddler giggles and wraps her arms around his neck. “They’d count your late entry as a late in your shift too.” she adds.

Steve shakes his head, a small and gentle smile still on his face. “‘S alright, I wanted to wait for you,” he responds softly, one hand rubbing on Sarah’s back. “Besides, I can just say I’m late from traffic too.” he adds and Natasha chuckles quietly as she shakes her head.

“There was  _ quite _ a jam in 68th. It’s where we got stuck,” she responds softly, giving him a small smile.  _ Stuck for five minutes. _ “Kind of why we’re running late also.” she says with a shrug.

Steve frowns slightly. “Traffic was  _ that _ bad, huh?” he asks, and Natasha nods. “Twenty minutes.”

_ Because the other fifteen minutes, well… _

The corners of Sarah’s mouth turns downwards slightly as she looks at her father. “Daddy, Mommy sad,” she says softly, and Natasha’s head whips to look at her daughter, her heart hammering fast against her chest and her eyes widening at her toddler as the little girl turns her head to look at Steve, who furrows his eyebrows slightly as he looks at the little girl in his arms in sheer confusion. “‘S why late...Mommy sad.” Sarah frowns deeply as her eyes widen and she looks at Natasha, then back at Steve. “Daddy, make Mommy feel better.” she tells him.

Natasha sighs, swallowing down her throat as she ducks her head slightly, trying to push down the bile starting to slowly rise in her throat, push down the throbbing ache inside her chest and the tears that could form in her eyes at  _ any _ moment. But then again, it’s not like her little girl was lying, they really  _ were _ late because Natasha—as Sarah had put it lightly—was  _ sad. _ She was sad about the events that happened yesterday, and the words she had heard last night. She really  _ was _ sad, and it was the reason why they ran in late, especially when Sarah woke to an already-crying Natasha, who had lost track of time, and had failed to wipe the tears from her eyes and dry her cheeks before her toddler could even turn and look, Sarah had somehow managed to convince Natasha (albeit in a bossy,  _ almost-going-to-cry-too _ kind of manner) if they could stay longer in bed for a while for snuggles—an attempt Sarah did to make Natasha feel better, so they did.

It did the trick, of course, because all of Sarah’s snuggles always make Natasha feel better. But then again, they were already running late because of the delay in their routine, and she 

So Natasha had somehow  _ lied _ to Sarah, and told her that going to work will help, because, as she told her daughter, “seeing Daddy would make me feel better”. And it’s a  _ huge _ lie considering that the reason Natasha  _ had _ been crying in the early hours of the morning was because she somehow woke up in the wee hours of the morning, her chest heavy and constricting, with his voice resonating inside her head, his confession to her last night that felt like a fever dream, but that of which occurred over the phone, and she’s not at all entirely sure if he meant any of it at all.

_ I love you, and I love the little family we’ve created...and I want it to last for a lifetime. _

“Nat?” Natasha snaps away from her own thoughts to look at his eyes looking at her and trained on her, all worried and confused—mostly worried, with his eyebrows furrowed as he takes a small step towards her, adjusting Sarah on his hip as he focuses his eyes on her. “Are...are you alright?” he asks softly.

_ Of course, I’m not. _ “I’m fine,” Natasha says quietly, swallowing down her throat as she forces a smile on her mouth as she looks at him. Her eyes then shift to Sarah, who is looking at her with wide eyes, her bottom lip wobbling as she looks at her mother, and Natasha gives her a smile, reaching out to brush away some of the hair on her daughter’s face. “I’m fine, I promise.” she says with a nod.

And saying it honestly leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, especially when she says it to  _ him, _ who’s the reason  _ why _ she’s in this whirlwind of emotions in the first place. “I’m fine, Steve,” she says, a little louder this time, because Steve is still looking at her as if he’s unconvinced. She knows he is, of course, but then again, she doesn’t really want to talk about it at all—doesn’t really want to talk about what he said the night before, and...and everything else because she just  _ can’t. _ “I’m fine, but we’re late, so we have to go.” she adds, looking away from him as she ducks her head and walks past him and Sarah.

Steve blinks for a few moments, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion as he follows after her inside the hospital building, and in front of the elevators where she’s already standing and waiting. The doors open as soon as Steve is beside her, and he allows her to enter first before he and Sarah can follow. Steve presses the button to the daycare floor, and Natasha sighs as she leans at the back of the elevator, closing her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest, the cup of coffee in one hand, as the doors close and the elevator is filled with silence.

The corners of Sarah’s mouth quirk downward, and she lets out a small whimper as she extends her arms over to Natasha, wanting to be carried by her mother. Steve watches as Natasha lifts her head slowly, sniffling slightly as she lets out a small smile, straightening her body so she can take Sarah in her arms, pressing her lips on the girl’s head as their toddler whimpers, wrapping her arms immediately around her neck and resting her head on her shoulder. Steve watches as Natasha sighs and closes her eyes again, this time resting her head on Sarah’s as she rubs the girl’s back soothingly with one hand, alternating between kissing the side of her head and burrowing her face in the toddler’s hair, as if the whole routine in itself was something that’s for  _ her, _ something to make her feel better.

And he begins to wonder  _ why. _ Why had she become so upset, like how Sarah described her to be, enough to cause a delay in their usual morning routine. He wonders what she’s thinking, what she’s feeling, what’s running through her head, if anything at all happened to her when he hadn’t been there, and…

Was it...could it be...about last night?

Sarah had been reluctant to leave her Mommy, refusing to be left in daycare without her, as if Natasha being upset had made  _ her _ upset too, but Natasha had soothed the girl into conceding to be left in daycare, and promising her that she and Steve would come up again for lunch as usual later on. Steve watches as Natasha embraces the toddler tight, pressing kisses on her face and on her head, before she eventually gives her to Steve, who embraces the girl as well, murmuring a promise that he would see her later during lunch with Natasha, and they will play and draw and color as usual, practically assuring their toddler that she has nothing to worry about.

“Daddy, make Mommy feel better, ‘kay?” Sarah murmurs softly as she buries her face in the crook of Steve’s neck, and Steve sighs, rubbing the girl’s back gently as he nods.

“I’ll do my best, baby,” he responds softly, pressing a kiss on the girl’s head as Sarah lifts her head to look at her father in the eyes. “I promise I will do my best, okay?” he repeats gently, and the toddler eventually nods.

Well, he’s not gonna let his little girl down, is he?

Natasha and Steve watch as Sarah toddle over to the other kids already present in the daycare, and once they see that she’s already in good hands and good company, Natasha turns and walks back into the hall, with Steve following after her as she walks.

“Nat, wait,” Steve says, catching up on Natasha’s tracks as she slows down a bit, and he starts walking alongside her as they proceed to the elevators. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” he asks.

“I said I’m  _ fine, _ Steve,” Natasha says quietly and dismissively, shaking her head as she refuses to look at him. But Steve doesn’t believe her, of course, and when they both stop in front of the elevators, she huffs out a breath and runs a hand through her hair. “I already told you I’m fine.” she says, but Steve shakes his head.

“I don’t believe that.” he tells her softly, and Natasha scoffs and rolls her eyes, pursing her lips as she swallows down her throat.

“I’m not asking you to,” she says quietly, crossing her arms over her chest as she looks down at her feet. And Steve opens his mouth, about to say something, when his phone vibrates in his pocket and he gets it out. He sighs and opens his phone, and Natasha turns her head to look at him, watching as his eyes widen slightly at whatever he is looking at his phone. She furrows her eyebrows and frowns slightly. “Is that a page?” she asks.

Steve sighs, closing his eyes as he shakes his head lightly and puts his phone back in his pocket, pressing the button down to the surgical floor. “You should be getting the same page too,” he says quietly, the same time that Natasha’s phone vibrates inside her bag. She fishes it out, and opens her phone to Jemma Simmons’ page for a neuro consult, more specifically  _ her _ consult for a returning patient she and Steve had. “Gabrielle Byers shouldn’t be back for another five months for her second surgery.” Steve adds quietly.

Natasha feels her heart drop, just looking at the text message from Simmons asking for her to come in immediately for a consult for Gabrielle Byers, who had apparently been admitted back last night in the hospital. Gabrielle—Gabby Byers, the three-year-old kid who suffered from a congenital heart disease, who had reminded her  _ so _ much of what Sarah had gone through, the patient who had prompted her to tell Steve the truth about their daughter, is  _ back, _ and she isn’t even due to come back for the second part of her surgery in another few months yet here she is. Natasha shakes her head, running her fingers through her hair as she sighs.

“What happened?” she asks softly, looking up at Steve who clenches his jaw and shakes his head lightly, looking up as the elevator doors open, and he gestures for Natasha to enter first before he follows. “The operation was a success, and she was discharged easily afterwards. What…” she trails off and shakes her head, pushing down the emotions rising up inside of her. She  _ can’t _ be emotional about this, she  _ can’t. _ “What happened? What do you think happened to her?” she asks, looking up at Steve with wide eyes.

He shakes his head and runs his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. I can’t say what it is without knowing  _ why _ she was brought back here, or without running some tests but…” he trails off as he huffs out a breath and purses his lips, shaking his head slightly as he looks away and furrows his eyebrows slightly. “If it’s a post-op complication related to her heart, I don’t think it should take a month for them to come back.” he adds quietly, and Natasha nods.

“I thought so too,” she agrees quietly with a small nod. “If it’s a shunt problem, it should’ve manifested within the day, of the  _ week _ of the surgery.” She sighs. “If it’s a brain problem...or a stroke she might’ve suffered from—”

“Shouldn’t take a month either,” he says, shaking his head as she nods and purses her lips tightly. “If it’s anything related to HLHS or her post-op condition, it shouldn’t take a  _ month _ for her to come back.”

“Maybe the mother still waited,” she responds quietly, and Steve looks at her as she looks away and shakes her head, clenching her jaw as she remembers Mandy Byers—the kid’s mother, whom she tried to assure that things  _ will _ be fine with her child, that none of this is her fault even if she thinks it is—the mother who had been just like  _ her _ when Sarah was in the same position as little Gabrielle. “Maybe she didn’t know, she…” she trails off and ducks her head as she sighs. “She should’ve known better.”

And Steve’s gaze soften at that, remembering a month ago when he had realized that a huge bulk of the reason why Natasha had been so attached to Gabby Byers’ case was because of what Sarah had gone through, that the reason why she was able to fully understand Mandy, therefore able to comfort her in her difficult times, was because  _ she _ had gone through the exact same thing she did—a single mother who had blamed herself for what happened to her child, and who had felt scared and alone because she  _ was. _ She  _ had _ been alone, and she  _ had _ been scared, and he wasn’t there. He wasn’t there with her, holding her hand and reassuring her like how he should, and he wasn’t there to make the  _ right _ calls and order the  _ correct _ procedures like how he should, like how he  _ can. _

It’s one of the things he can never get rid of in his head, especially at times when he would look at their little girl. He couldn’t, for the life of him, imagine how once upon a time, the bright smile on her face had been absent, replaced by that of a frown of irritation and pain, and how her bright green sparkling eyes mirroring Natasha’s had been replaced as well by a glint of pain because of how difficult it must have been for her to breathe and move, how difficult it was for her to eat and do normal things children usually do because of her condition. He couldn’t imagine how her small and light giggles and laughters were once absent, replaced by excruciating cries and screams, her face red and scrunched up, her feet and hands bluish in color.

The guilt is still present, even with the moments he would spend time with both Natasha and Sarah, even when he would witness their smiles and hear their laughs, he would still be reminded of the fact that he had been gone longer than he had known Sarah, and that he had been gone longer than he had known that Natasha is the mother of his child. And though he tries to not be so consumed with it, that he should instead enjoy all of these happy moments with them, that he should be thankful he’s given the chance to enjoy these moments at all, he can’t help but think of the pain Natasha had gone through with all of these—more so, the pain she had gone through witnessing an experience that likened to her and Sarah unfold in front of her eyes.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” he asks softly, and Natasha looks back at him, her teeth digging her bottom lip as she looks at him worriedly. “It’s quite close to home.” he adds quietly, and Natasha shakes her head.

“‘M fine,” she mutters quietly as she sighs. “I just want her to be okay.”

“She will,” Steve assures her softly, praying that whatever it is that sent the toddler to the emergency room would indeed  _ be _ nothing, and the kid would be fine. “She’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know that,” she responds, looking away from him as she shakes her head. “Not yet anyway.”

Once reaching the surgical floor, they both immediately proceed to the lounge to put their bags in their locker, putting on their white coat and retrieving their phones before going to the nurses’ station where Jemma is, and with her, Sharon Carter. Natasha takes a deep breath as Steve purses his lips, both of them giving small smiles as they reach the station, and both Sharon and Jemma look up at both of them.

“You got Simmons’ page?” Sharon asks, her eyes flickering between the two doctors who nod, and she sighs. “It’s Gabrielle Byers, the kid with the HLHS.”

“Do we already know what happened to her?” Steve asks, and Sharon tucks her hands in the pockets of her coat.

“She was admitted last night, at half past ten in the evening, the  _ only _ trauma case as per Doctor Morse,” Sharon starts to explain, and Natasha furrows her eyebrows slightly. “The mother reported nausea and vomiting, extreme fatigue and seizures. She explained that for the past few weeks, Gabrielle had grown irritable, unable to follow her usual eating patterns and  _ very  _ sluggish. Last night, she had a seizure, which was what prompted the readmission.”

“Were you able to run tests?” Natasha asks quietly. “A-and what did they do? Who attended to her last night?”

“Thankfully, Morse was here along with Sitwell and Simmons, who had been the residents on-call last night,” she says. “She ordered for a CT and an MRI to check for what caused the seizures and vomiting.” Sharon gets a brown envelope on the countertop and hands it over to Natasha who opens it and retrieves the CT scan, raising it against the light to be able to get a better view of it. “She found blockages in the ventricles that could be affecting her cerebrospinal fluid flow, which could explain the seizures she’d been experiencing. But those things only happen when there are shunts—”

“There aren’t any shunts in her brain,” Natasha says, furrowing her eyebrows as she looks back at Sharon who nods. “She only has an RV-PA shunt in her heart, and that shouldn’t have anything to do with the brain.”

“Did she say anything about chest pains, or pains in any part of her body?” Steve asks. “Because it  _ could _ be a shunt problem, and it’s affecting the brain too.”

“Well, they  _ did _ come in late last night, so we didn’t really get to ask,” Sharon says, raising an eyebrow. “Morse made the right call, still, with the head CT and MRI. I also think it’s an RV-PA shunt problem, but I think we need to be sure first before doing anything.”

“But the RV-PA shunt...that’s the new one, the revised one from Blalock-Taussig, it should’ve worked,” Natasha says, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion as she puts the scans back in the envelope, and she looks up at Steve, who sighs and nods his head solemnly. “It would’ve been the best option regardless of who the kid is.”

“But it mostly works in smaller babies,” Sharon says quietly, and Natasha looks at her. Sharon shakes her head and purses her lips. “Regardless of who the baby is, but this one...the kid’s three years old.”

Natasha shakes her head, looking at Sharon helplessly, almost unbelievingly. “You’re saying it’s too late?” she asks quietly. “It’s not too late, it  _ can’t.” _

She hates thinking that there isn’t any hope for medical cases such as these. She  _ refuses _ to believe in the thought that it’s “too late” for some patients to receive such medical treatments, especially when they’re kids, especially when it’s  _ nobody’s _ fault that they were there in the first place. So Gabby Byers’ case? She refuses to believe in Sharon that the girl’s age could’ve been a huge factor in believing the shunt didn’t work, in believing that she’s probably gonna die because she had received treatment too late.

“We’ll see,” Sharon says, and Natasha looks back at her as Sharon gives her a small nod. “Let’s just hope we’re wrong, alright? I don’t want this kid dying either.” she says.

Steve looks at Natasha who sighs and nods, clenching her jaw as she swallows down her throat. He’s tempted to lay a hand on her back, soothe her and tell her that it’s gonna be fine, that she shouldn’t worry about the kid’s treatment, that it isn’t at all too late for Gabby like what Sharon had been implying (and frankly, what he had  _ also _ been thinking), but he honestly can’t be sure about these things, so he doesn’t say anything instead. Natasha looks up at Steve, and he gives her a small reassuring nod as he releases a breath and looks up at Sharon.

“Let’s go see ‘em.” Steve says, and Sharon nods, looking at Jemma who turns and leads them to the elevators to the pediatrics floor, where the Byers are.

And even as they get there and they start discussing, the discussions mostly spearheaded by Steve once Natasha had gotten over explaining the blockages in little Gabrielle’s ventricles, she completely spaces out, willing herself once in a while to tune back in the discussions and divert her growing attention to a weak and frail Gabby Byers on the small bed. She got thinner since the last time she was admitted, and she had already been small and thin to begin with, the bags in her eyes deep and dark that it immediately gives away the impression that the little girl has been in pain for the past few days, or even weeks. Her eyes flicker over to Mandy—the mother—who is  _ obviously _ doing her best to listen, to keep the tears from falling from her eyes at the mention of the blockages from earlier, coupled with the fact that Steve is already doing his best to explain the shunt failure as smoothly and as gently as he can without causing panic.

But of course, she’s gonna panic. It’s one of the many things she had learned from being a doctor of pediatric neurosurgery and being a mother. Of course, no matter how gentle or how lightly the doctors will explain to mothers of their children’s diseases, they will  _ always _ panic no matter what, because this is their child’s life at stake—this is their most beloved one’s life that is at stake, and no amount of gentleness or lightness will ever ebb the panic that could rise inside them.

“So she needs another surgery?” Mandy asks, her voice cracking, immediately snapping Natasha away from her own thoughts, as she looks at all four doctors inside the room. She swallows down her throat and releases a shaky breath, her hand finding her daughter’s, who turns her head weakly towards her mother then back at the doctors. “Like the one she had the last time? She needs both a brain and heart surgery again?” she asks.

Sharon sighs and shakes her head lightly. “She will need, yes, but the procedures to be done...we’re still not sure of them exactly,” she explains gently. “We’ll need to run a few more tests, and we will have to sit down and discuss about the procedure once we do get the results—”

“But that will take a while,” Mandy says, shaking her head as her eyes widen, looking at the doctors pleadingly. “Will that take a while? What if she’s gonna run out of time?”

“She won’t,” Steve reassures the mother. “And we’ll be sure to have a final plan by the end of the day, so we’ll be able to determine the course of action, so we’d be able to help Gabrielle quickly.”

Mandy releases a shaky breath, and her eyes land on Natasha. “Will she survive this, Doctor?” she asks quietly, her voice barely above a whisper as she looks at Natasha. But Natasha looks back at her, and she swallows down her throat when she sees something else in the mother’s eyes, because beyond the question she’s already asking, is another question unspoken:  _ Will I be able to survive this as her mother? _

“We’ll do our best,” Natasha responds softly.  _ You will do your best. _ “That much we can promise you.”

Sharon nods. “Gabrielle would be constantly monitored, even as we discuss the course of action throughout the day,” she assures Mandy gently. “Doctor Simmons will be here, and you can tell her whatever you need, and if anything happens, she’ll be able to call us immediately.” Mandy nods, and Sharon quirks the corner of her mouth. “It’s a good thing you were able to bring her in immediately last night, at least we were able to quickly look for a way to treat her.” she adds, and Mandy huffs out a quiet chuckle.

“Gabby gave us quite a scare,” she says quietly. “She started vomiting and having seizures when it was already her bedtime. Luckily, it was a rare free day for the emergency room last night. Never knew how big and empty an E.R. really feels especially when you’re alone.”

Natasha furrows her eyebrows slightly.  _ She was admitted last night, at half past ten in the evening, the only trauma case as per Doctor Morse, _ the only patient brought in by an ambulance last night. She tilts her head slightly to the side, her eyes flickering over to Steve. Wasn’t  _ he _ in the hospital last night? Since when  _ they _ left, he stayed behind, still. And when she heard his voicemail, she thought she’d heard a faint sound of an ambulance in the midst of his confession, in the midst of his silence...

Why didn’t  _ he _ know about Gabby Byers’ admission here?

“We’ll give you further updates in a while,” Sharon says, and Mandy nods. “For now, Doctor Simmons will just do some routine checkups, and prepare you for the tests.” Sharon looks at Jemma who nods. “We’ll be back later.”

“Thank you, Doctors.” Mandy says, and all three attendings nod, all filing out of the room before Steve closes the door behind him, and Sharon looks at both Steve and Natasha.

“I have an incoming patient I need to attend to, so discussions for this would have to be up to both of you first for the meantime,” she says, and both Steve and Natasha nod. “I’ll meet you both in the lounge to discuss whatever you have, and we’ll take it from there.”

Natasha nods. “Thanks, Sharon.” she says quietly. The blonde nods, turning as she walks down the hall, and both Steve and Natasha watch her leave. Natasha takes a deep breath and tucks her hands inside her coat pockets. “We can discuss it later, if you still need to order some tests.”

“I’ve already ordered the tests earlier, and Simmons already knows,” Steve says softly, and Natasha looks up at him. “We can discuss what we initially know now, maybe come up with a plan?”

Natasha looks away from him, her eyes squinting slightly as she sighs. “I-I don’t...maybe later will be better once you have the results,” she says quietly. “Maybe later will be better.”

Steve frowns slightly. “Nat, she’s gonna be okay. We’ll make sure she’ll be okay,” he assures her gently. “You don’t have to worry about her, alright? We just have to come up with a good procedure and she’ll be fine.” He pauses. “We’ll make sure she’s fine.”

“It’s not that, Steve, it’s…” she trails off, shaking her head as she looks back at him, and Steve looks at her questioningly, his eyebrows raised slightly as he waits patiently for her to gather her thoughts. She swallows down her throat, feeling her heart pounding loudly inside her chest. “You knew she was here in this hospital? That she was brought in last night?” she asks quietly, furrowing her eyebrows as she looks at him.

Steve’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, shaking his head lightly. “I didn’t, I…” he trails off and looks away momentarily, as if thinking, and he shakes his head. “I didn’t know she was brought in. Wh-what makes you think I do?” he asks gently, and Natasha huffs out a breath.

“I heard, Steve, I…” she trails off, and shakes her head.  _ I heard the ambulance in your voicemail, you must’ve been here, _ but he’s not. Or so he  _ claims _ he’s not?

“You heard?” he asks again, and his eyes widen slightly in realization. “You heard.” he says quietly, his heart racing fast against his chest as he looks at Natasha who looks away from him and shakes her head.

“Never mind, Steve, I…” she says, closing her eyes and shaking her head. “We’ll...we’ll just discuss the procedure once you get the results, alright? Just page me when you have it.”

Because she  _ doesn’t _ want to talk about it. She  _ can’t, _ because she doesn’t really know what to say, much less what to feel about the entire thing he just confessed. She starts to turn to walk away from him but Steve is quick to move in front of her as he shakes his head.

“Nat, I...did...did that make you upset?” he asks, worriedly, his eyebrows furrowed in worry and confusion that makes Natasha’s heart aches as she looks away from him. “Did that make you upset, I...I’m  _ sorry, _ Nat, I didn’t mean—”

“No, it didn’t, I...Steve, it’s…” she interrupts, shaking her head as she huffs out a breath. “It’s  _ fine, _ I’m fine, there’s nothing to worry about.” She takes a step to the side, away from him, but he moves in the same direction too. “Steve, I said I’m  _ fine.” _ she says in gritted teeth.

“Please tell me what I did wrong,” Steve says softly, shaking his head as he looks at Natasha who refuses to meet his eyes. “Nat,  _ please, _ I...please tell me. I wanna make it right, I want to, whatever I said or whatever I did...I want to make it right.” Natasha purses her lips and takes a deep breath, her eyes flickering over to look at Steve’s who is looking at her worriedly and confusedly, almost pleadingly as well that it makes her chest constrict she has to look away again. What is she going to say?  _ How _ is she going to say it? What is there  _ left _ to say?

“Where were you last night?” she asks, looking up at him to meet his eyes, and she furrows her eyebrows slightly. “When you...when you called, I heard an ambulance. You didn’t know Gabrielle Byers was admitted?”

It could mean a lot of things, really. For all she knows, he could just be at his apartment wherever it is, by the window, where he can see the streets and where he can hear the cars pass by—including that of an ambulance, albeit a  _ persistent _ and long one at that that it didn’t sound like it was just passing at all. It really  _ did _ sound like he had still been here, or he’d been nearby, and if he did, she  _ knows _ he would be in action at first, so if he ever  _ was _ in the hospital, how could he not know? How could he be as surprised as she was upon receiving the page?

“I wasn’t...I wasn’t in the hospital, Nat,” he says quietly, and he takes a deep breath as he looks away from her, and she narrows her eyes at him. “Can...can we talk about this somewhere, please?” he asks, shaking his head slightly. “I know there’s...there’s more to this, and I...I wanna talk about it, Nat.”

“We have to discuss Gabby’s procedure, you heard what Sharon said.” Natasha says, and Steve shakes his head.

“It won’t take too long,” he says softly, swallowing down his throat. “And I want...I want to explain, and I wanna talk to you about it...if it’s okay.”

Is it? Is it okay with her, to hear him say it again—personally, the way she’d always wanted to? Is it okay with her to hear where he had been, as if it  _ is _ a big deal evidenced by the fact that he won’t say where he had been when she asked? But, really, what’s there to lose if she would listen to him say it? As if she hadn’t lost any more in the past?

So she just sighs, and swallowing down her throat, she looks up at him. “Rooftop,” she tells him quietly. “The usual place.” she adds.

_ Their  _ usual place before, or at least  _ one _ of them—her most favorite spot in this hospital.

So Steve leads her there, and she takes a deep breath once she is greeted by the wind and the bright sky, her eyes immediately landing on the East River, on the ferry boats passing by, and the people there. She walks over to the rails overseeing the river, overseeing Roosevelt Island and of course, the buildings in Brooklyn. She feels Steve walk over to the spot beside her, and she looks down at the streets below the hospital, at the cars passing by, the people walking and the buildings across the hospital…

Her eyes stopping specifically in  _ one _ place.

“Where were you?” Natasha asks quietly, her eyes not leaving the one place down across the hospital. “You didn’t say where, but you didn’t say you were in the hospital.” She pauses. “Where were you?”

Because  _ now _ it matters where he had been.  _ Now, _ if she’s thinking correctly, it matters where he’d been when he called, what he had been doing when he called and told her…

Steve’s eyes follow her line of sight, and his breath hitches as his heart starts pounding against his chest. “Nat…” he says quietly, and Natasha looks at him, her eyes wide and glassy and expecting. He sighs and meets his eyes. “I was across the hospital.”

“Where?” she asks quietly. “What were you doing?”

Steve swallows down his throat. “I was in the pub,” he answers quietly. “The former Fettuccine Fiesta, I was there.” He looks at Natasha. “But I wasn’t drunk, Nat, I swear I wasn’t...it wasn’t  _ like _ that. I was thinking clearly, and I meant  _ every _ word—”

“Did you?” she asks quietly, furrowing her eyebrows as she looks at him. “Did you  _ really _ mean it? Did you really  _ want _ to say it, or is that just another side-effect of the alcohol?” She swallows down her throat. “You weren’t drunk but you needed the push because you can’t even  _ tell _ me without it, not even in person.” She pauses, and she looks away from him as she licks her lips and knits her eyebrows together and shakes her head.

“I heard what you left me last night, Steve, and I find it unfair,” she says, her voice cracking as she pauses and clears her throat.  _ “You’re _ unfair, Steve. You are  _ very _ unfair, and I know you tried to mean well with it, and I know you wanted me to feel loved and feel happy about it…” she trails off and pauses, the corners of her mouth quirking downward. “And I tried, Steve, I  _ tried. _ But when i was listening to it...when I was listening to you tell me  _ all _ those things you said, I can’t stop myself from remembering how we even  _ got _ here in the first place—how you  _ left _ me with a phone call, how the last thing you told me was you loved me, and then you left and you were gone for three years.”

She shakes her head, looking up at him with glassy eyes filled with hurt and tears that Steve’s heart constricts inside his chest just looking at her eyes. “And it’s  _ unfair, _ because you probably weren’t thinking about that last night when you called, but I did. And it probably never occurred to you to think about it, because your thoughts and your words were blurred by alcohol and late lonely hours, so it wouldn’t have crossed your mind, right? It couldn’t  _ hurt _ you, but it  _ hurt _ me. And I wanna believe that what you’re saying this time is different, Steve, I really do. I wanna believe that  _ this _ time, you meant it, but how do you think I’m supposed to feel when you did the exact same thing you did three years ago?” she asks, her eyebrows knit together as she looks at him, her bottom lip wobbling as her vision starts blurring because of the tears. “How am I supposed to believe that you  _ meant _ it? When you couldn’t even tell me in person, sober and during the daylight?”

Steve shakes his head, his own eyes filling with tears as he looks at her. He swallows down his throat and faces her completely. “I mean it, Nat, and I...I mean it, I really did, I really  _ do,” _ he says, and Natasha sighs and looks away from him. “And the phone call, it...it didn’t have anything to do with the fact that  _ I _ was there, I  _ promise. _ I can say all the things I’ve told you last night now, and it would still mean all the same. I can say it, because it’s true—that I love you and I wanna be with you, that I love you and the family we created, that I love you and I want to spend a lifetime with you.“ He pauses, and Natasha looks at him as he looks away, swallowing down his throat. “And I mean every word of it, even until now,  _ especially _ now. My words weren’t blurred by alcohol or lonely hours, Nat, especially not when I meant every word of it. And you’re right, maybe I did need the push, maybe it did give me enough courage that I don’t have, but it didn’t mean I never meant it.”

Natasha feels a tear slip down her eyes and she wipes it away quickly. Steve releases a breath and shakes his head. “I didn’t think about the phone call, I...I just thought I wanted to say it immediately, never wanted to wait longer before saying it,” he explains quietly. He looks back at her and gives her a small and tight smile. “I’m sorry, Nat.” he whispers, and Natasha shakes her head.

“For which one?” she asks quietly, and Steve swallows down his throat, her question piercing his heart so painfully.

“For everything,” he says quietly, pursing his lips and giving her a small and tight smile, trying to hold the tears back brought about by the  _ painful _ constricting in his heart and chest. “For everything, since the beginning.” he adds.

Natasha closes her eyes and looks away from him, because looking at him is just  _ so _ painful, the same as loving him and just accepting his love altogether. She knows that he’s sorry, she really  _ does, _ and she knows that he meant it when he says that he’s sorry, and that he loves her, and he loves their family. But she doesn’t know, really, what the difference is with how he told her back then, and how he’s telling her  _ now. _

So she asks him so. “You haven’t told me the difference, of back then and now,” she says, without looking at him, her eyes trained on the East River. “What made you say it now...how is it different from before, like you said?” she adds.

Steve swallows down his throat and sighs. “Because everyday for the last three years, I’ve always felt that there is always this one thing that’s missing in me...like a void, unfillable no matter how hard I try,” he says quietly. “And I tried to fill it up with so many things—work, and friends and...and other things, and it stayed empty until I came back and saw you...and I just felt like my entire universe just snapped back into focus.”

Natasha looks up at him, and she meets his glassy eyes as he swallows down his throat. “The difference, Nat, is that apart from Sarah, and apart from this family you’ve...you’ve  _ given _ me, given me the privilege to know and love,  _ this _ time I know that I can’t be who I want to be without you, and if I didn’t know that before, I know it now.” He pauses, and he shakes his head. “I can't live without you.”

Natasha purses her lips and shakes her head. “You already have.” she tells him, and he gives her a small shake of his head.

“It’s not called living if you don’t  _ feel _ alive.” he says quietly.

Natasha just bites her bottom lip and looks away from him, facing once again the East River as she rests her arms on the rails, clasping her hands together as she takes a deep breath. He said it, he said  _ all _ the things she wanted to hear, and all the things she wanted him to say. She knows he means it, she really does, and she knows it enough to believe all of it, so  _ really,  _ what was the problem? Why does it still feel like there should be something else? Why does it feel like she’s not at all upset with the fact that he told her he loves her through the phone, that it doesn’t have anything at all to do with the fact that he might’ve been drunk when he said it?

Why does it feel like it’s really not anymore on  _ him, _ but on  _ her? _

Natasha lifts a hand, resting the tips of her fingers on her lips, contemplating and wading through the pain in her heart, and the tears slowly filling her eyes. She turns away from the rest of the city, crossing her arms over her chest as she turns and leans back on the rails, looking at the rooftop.  _ Can you believe it?, _ she thinks. This place, this rooftop, their favorite spot where she would feel his arms around her, where she would feel herself pressed against his firm chest as the winds would rush past them...this place that used to bring her so much butterflies in her stomach, make her heart flutter inside her chest and make her feel  _ so _ deeply in love with this man...it doesn’t feel like so anymore.

And she doesn’t know if it would ever feel like that anymore.

“What are you thinking, Nat?” Steve asks quietly, swallowing down his throat, pushing down the tears threatening to fall from his eyes as he looks at her looking around the rooftop.

She shakes her head, pursing her lips as she lets out a small chuckle. “Just trying for a second to pretend that I’m still a resident and you’re still my attending and nothing’s changed,” she responds quietly with a small nod, and tears begin to fill her eyes.  _ When things were simpler, and we were still in love. _ She purses her lips tightly, furrowing her eyebrows as she takes a shaky breath. “We had a great love story, Steve, an extraordinary one, I believe.” she says, pausing as she sniffles and releases a shaky breath. “It was a great story to be a part of, but it also took place a long time ago.” She shakes her head slowly. “And I don’t know if it’s a story I’d want to pick it up again with.” she adds quietly. “Even if I love you, and even if you love me, it’s...it’s not enough just yet.”

A tear slips Natasha’s eyes and she wipes it away with the back of her hand. “When you left, Steve, it was hard letting you go,” she says, her voice cracking as she shakes her head. “It was hard losing you, and...it was hard seeing you again.” She shakes her head. “It...it’s still  _ really _ hard.”

Steve feels his heart breaking inside his chest, tears slipping down from his eyes as he lowers his head and nods. “I know,” he says quietly, pursing his lips as he takes a deep breath, lifting his eyes once again to look at the East River, as he swallows down his throat. “You know, when I’d be asleep, I would have a dream, that when you got home from your shift  _ that _ day three years ago, I was there and I didn't leave.” She bites the inside of her cheek as she turns slightly to look at him, and he gives her a small sad smile when she looks at him. “And you told me we were gonna have a baby, and we figured things out easily from there. It would be different sometimes, the way the dream would turn out, but  _ every _ single time, I still stayed.  _ Every _ single time, I never left.”

Natasha’s heart constricts, the corners of her mouth quirking downwards. She had those dreams too, those fantasies that would forever remain as that, and even  _ farther _ from the reality she’d hoped. "It's just a dream, right?" she asks quietly, both to herself and to him.

Steve nods, forcing a smile despite his vision blurring because of the tears. "It's my dream." he says, his voice barely above a whisper, enough for Natasha to hear as she looks away from him, swallowing down her throat as she sighs.

_ It had been mine too. _

And a silence took over them, a weirdly comfortable, yet also tense silence, both unsure of what to say next, both unsure of what to do next. Natasha purses her lips and takes a deep breath. “I’ll meet you in the lounge,” she says quietly. “Sharon might be waiting...for Gabby’s procedure.”

Steve swallows down his throat, taking a deep and heavy breath as he nods. “I’ll be down there in a while.” he says, and Natasha nods, ducking her head as she sighs.

“I’m sorry.” she says quietly, and Steve shakes his head as he looks away momentarily, then back at her.

“Nothing to be sorry for.” he responds quietly, giving her a small and sad smile despite the throbbing pain inside his chest, one that he understands why it’s there, and it’s one that he deserves.

Natasha gives him a small nod as she sighs and starts to walk away towards the entrance back to the hospital, leaving Steve alone in his thoughts. She presses the button of the elevator down, steps inside and presses the button to the surgical floor, closing her eyes and leaning back against the back of the elevator as she sighs and shakes her head, running her fingers through her hair.

She walks towards the lounge and finds Sharon inside, sitting on one of the chairs by the table with a patient record. She raises an eyebrow when Natasha enters. “Where’s Steve?” she asks quietly, and Natasha clenches her jaw and shakes her head as she swallows down her throat.

“I don’t know.” she lies, taking a seat across Sharon, who slides the envelope of scans across the table to Natasha and she takes it. She takes the scans out and releases a breath as she looks at them again, willing and forcing herself to study the scans carefully, figure out what created the blockage,  _ where _ the blockages were in Gabby’s head and how she could take it all out.

“He should be here. The results from the tests he ordered are here,” Sharon responds quietly, one finger tapping on another brown envelope. “And we can’t really start the discussion without him.” She lifts her shoulder to a small shrug. “We kinda need to start it now too.”

Natasha bites her bottom lip and shakes her head. “I’m sure he’ll be here,” she tells her quietly, and Sharon tilts her head slightly to the side as she looks at her. “He won’t miss this one.”

Sharon studies Natasha closely, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looks at her colleague and old friend. She wants to ask something, for the sake of knowing how she is, and not...not for any other reason, but it might feel awkward, still, no matter who they were before and no matter who they are  _ now. _ Words were exchanged, after all, words specifically coming from  _ her, _ when she said some hurtful things to her around a month ago, when Natasha had still somewhat hurt her to an extent. But things are different now, of course, and a lot can happen in a span of one month.

But still, she’s quite unsure of how Natasha would see things between them, when she obviously has bigger things to deal with.

Steve comes in, eventually, this time more composed and more put-together than how Natasha had seen him on the rooftop. His eyes flicker towards her, their eyes meeting briefly, both giving each other small smiles as Steve takes a seat one seat apart from Natasha, and a seat apart from Sharon as well. Sharon looks at both of them, even as Sharon slides the envelope over to Steve who takes it with a small nod and an utter of thanks before opening it and taking the scans out. Natasha sighs and lowers her head slightly, and Sharon just raises an eyebrow as she looks at the both of them, letting out a sigh and a shake of her head before straightening her back and leaning back against her chair properly.

“Shall we start?” she asks, both of them lifting their heads to look at her before they nod silently.  _ Boy, _ she thinks. This is going to be one  _ hell _ of a case.

It turns out it really  _ was _ one hell of a case, because apart from the complicated process and discussions of Gabby’s case, of the procedures to replace the shunt and remove the blockages, all three of them tracing the possibilities of where these blockages may have come from and  _ why _ it had been there in the first place, the tension between Steve and Natasha had been unbearable and excruciating, mostly for Sharon who, though merely a spectator now, just wants to hide and stay away from the heavy atmosphere whenever she is with them. And the  _ worst _ part of it all is that it stretches for  _ days, _ even after the day they started discussing about Gabby’s case until the first round of surgery for Gabby’s shunt revision, even until Natasha starts on her operation (and eventual research paper, which is a  _ pretty _ smart move, in Sharon’s opinion) on the blockages of her ventricles. It has been  _ long _ enough, Sharon thinks, that it’s enough for the whole hospital to start noticing, and makes her start to wonder how they are with each other around their daughter, whom she knows they bring to daycare together every morning.

Which, it turns out, in Natasha’s point of view, is as unbearable as how Sharon thinks it is, and she can’t even  _ begin _ to fathom nor explain how unbearable and how heavy it is to be in this sort of limbo she created for the both of them.

And it’s a limbo she kind of needs, of course, to give herself some space and to stop herself from just falling without thinking, from letting him in without having to let herself heal. It’s a limbo she knows half of the hospital is already aware of, including Sharon, who is quite obvious in letting them know how she feels the tension every time she walks in the room with them (if not for the clearing of throat and sometimes amused smirk every time an awkward silence ensues, and as well as the worried look she would give the both of them every time they would start to argue about a procedure or a concept), but it’s a limbo they don’t allow Sarah to know, nor allow Sarah to feel, if only to make the little girl comfortable and out of the drama, even if it  _ kills _ the both of them.

He would still stand every morning in front of the hospital to wait for them, would still give Natasha her usual cup of coffee and Sarah some different kind of sweets to jumpstart her morning. He would still have lunch with the both of them, would still spend time and linger longer after lunch to play, and would still be there to kiss Sarah a good night before she and Natasha would go home. Sometimes, they would indulge Sarah’s requests for the both of them, asking for Steve to kiss Natasha on the cheek, or for Natasha to hug Steve goodbye too, and even though it hurts for the both of them, they do so. They would try to talk about it too, of course, of what comes next, what’s there left to do, what  _ should _ they do from here on, during the times they would be left alone after dropping Sarah off in daycare, or after having lunch with her, but every time the topic of  _ them _ would be brought up, either by Steve himself or Natasha, Natasha would end up in tears even before they would start to delve in the topic, so they would stop, and it would never be brought up again.

And she tells Bucky all of this, on one lazy afternoon when she had been alone in the lounge with her laptop doing a research proposal paper on Gabby’s case, and Bucky had just come from a surgery. Natasha tells all of these in confidence with him, mostly because he asked first. So she tells him all of it, knowing that the chances of Steve walking in would be less since she knows he has a long angioplasty that afternoon, and the chances of  _ anyone _ at all walking in would be less since the O.R. boards had been full the whole day with several back-to-back surgeries.

“I don’t know if what I did was right, if what I told him was right,” she confides in him as Bucky turns his head to look at her. She leans back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest, as she looks at Bucky lying on the couch of the lounge, his two feet propped on the armrest and his two hands clasped over his tummy. “I don’t even know if it  _ feels _ right anymore either.”

Bucky hums and shrugs. “You said you needed time—time to think and reconsider things even after hearing him confess,” he says, and he shakes his head lightly. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.”

Natasha furrows her eyebrows and shakes her head. “I had time,” she says quietly with a small shrug. “Three weeks, to be exact, which is quite a long time.”

Bucky lets out a soft chuckle. “It’s not, trust me,” he responds. “It just feels like it is because you see him everyday, because you interact with him everyday, but it isn’t. Healing time is very relative, and I don’t think anyone else but you can say that you’ve had your time, and that you’re finally alright.” He blinks and looks away from her momentarily. “You love him, Nat, and he loves you. Time becomes longer when you’re apart from the person you love.”

Natasha blinks, swallowing down her throat as she looks down at her lap. “Buck, I’m still sorry,” she tells him quietly, and Bucky turns his head again to look at her. “But I can’t...I can’t do that to you.” She looks back up at him as she shakes her head lightly. “I can’t let you be that guy, and I can’t let myself be that girl.”  _ That guy who’s a rebound, and that girl who forces herself to love someone even if her heart belongs to someone else. _

Bucky smiles and shakes his head. “It’s okay,” he says softly, and shrugs. “I never made a move anyway, never even told you how I felt until  _ that _ day, so…” He shakes his head. “It’s nothing to be sorry for.”

She clenches her jaw and releases a breath, looking away from him momentarily before looking back at him. “You told me before that Steve was always the right one for me, that  _ you _ saw it, and you know it,” she says softly, and Bucky nods. Natasha hesitates for a moment, pursing her lips together and releasing a breath as she tilts her head to the side. “Did it...did you think for the last three years that maybe I was the right one for you, and you for me?” she asks quietly. “Like some time within those three years...when...you know.”

Bucky pauses for a while, contemplating and mulling over her question as he sighs. “It crossed my mind,” he responds softly. “But then it was just once, and afterwards…” He shakes his head. “I’ve  _ really _ always known that you and Steve were the right one for each other, even  _ begrudgingly _ when he hadn’t come back in a year after leaving. But now just...just thinking about it. I loved you, Nat, and to some extent I still do, of course, but when I’ve been hearing you tell stories about Steve, and when I’ve been seeing how happy you were starting to become in the few weeks you and him started spending more time together with Sarah, it didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would.” He shrugs and lets out a small chuckle. “I don’t know if it’s also because I still see Steve as my best friend, and how a part of me inside still wants to see him happy, but...but it doesn’t hurt when it should’ve, and I figured if you were the right one for me, then there must be something wrong there—of me not hurting when I see you with someone else.”

Bucky gives her a gentle smile. “I loved you, but not as much as you love Steve, and never as much as he loved—and  _ loves _ you,” he continues softly. “Maybe mine is the kind of love that sacrifices, and only wants to see you happy that’s all, but it’s not the kind of love that’s enough to say that we’re meant to be, and I’m just...I’m realizing all of it now, I guess.”

She gives him a small smile, and he lets out a small laugh. “‘Sides, what kind of man would I be if I say  _ yes _ to that question?” he teases lightly, and Natasha huffs out a chuckle. “Tryna steal my best friend’s girl? I think I’m better than that.” He winks, and she grins and nods.

“And any woman you’ll have in the future will be lucky to have you for that,” she responds, and he chuckles as he nods. She quirks her mouth to the side as she looks away momentarily, then focuses her eyes back on him as she tilts her head to the side.  _ My best friend’s girl, _ he said, and it rings in Natasha’s head the moment she heard him say it. “Will you ever forgive him?” she asks. “For what he did to all of us?”

_ For leaving, for hurting, for not being brave enough to face what he had left until three years later? _

“Will you?” Bucky asks, raising an eyebrow at her, and Natasha sighs as she looks away. “I know you love him and all that, and I know that love is forgiveness or whatever the saying goes but...it’s still up to you. I’d do what  _ you  _ do.”

The corner of Natasha’s mouth quirks upward as she looks back at him. “Why do you do that?” she asks softly, shaking her head in slight amusement. “I asked you once if you believed him when I told you what he promised, and you turned the question back. I ask now if you’ll forgive him, and you do it again.” She shakes her head and gives him a small smile. “What about what  _ you _ think?”

Bucky lets out a soft chuckle and releases a breath. “Nat, the reason why half of this hospital is pissed at him is because of what he did to  _ you, _ and what you went through because he was gone, because he had skipped all the hard parts you had to go through, and most of these happened because he wasn’t here,” he explains softly with a small shrug, as Natasha blinks in surprise. “We’re a family here, remember? And when Steve left the hospital, he basically left the family, but more so, he left  _ you, _ his one closest family of all of us.” He lets out a small chuckle. “And I’m not saying the pressure is on you to forgive him so the rest of us can, because there isn’t any, really, and believe me when I say that some of us are already starting. I heard Tony went out drinking with him once, so there’s that.” He gives her a smile. “You can take your time, as long as you need it too.” 

Natasha sighs and shakes her head. “It feels like there is,” she says, giving him a small smile as she nods at him. “Forgive him, will you? I think he really needs his best friend back.” She pauses and looks away. “‘Sides, I’m trying my best myself because I want to.”

Bucky smiles and lets out a soft chuckle. “We’ll see. I’ll do my best as well,” he responds, and she chuckles softly, shaking her head fondly as she turns back to her laptop. “But you do deserve better, you know.” he adds, and Natasha looks back at him with a raised eyebrow, and his smile widens. “You still deserve better.”

Natasha furrows her eyebrows slightly, shaking her head and smirking. “What, are we still at it with the ‘better guy’?” she asks teasingly, and Bucky chuckles as he shakes his head.

“Nah, not that,” he tells her. “I still stand by what I said that he’s the right one for you. It’s just that you deserve better  _ from _ him—you deserve a better Steve.” he says. “Don’t let him rest until he can give  _ that _ to you. Don’t let him off so easily like that with you.”

Natasha tips her chin slightly at that, her eyes locking with Bucky’s as she nods. “I won’t.” she promises, both to herself and to Bucky, before she goes back to work, and before Bucky closes his eyes for a nap.

In late afternoon that day, before Natasha begins her final rounds of the day for her neuro patients, she goes up to the pediatric floor and to the Byers’ room. She knocks on the door twice, and turns the knob when she hears a muffled “come in” from Mandy, who gets up from her seat and smiles when Natasha comes in. She’d been a frequent visitor, for one, because of her new study on what caused Gabby’s blockages and she needed Mandy’s ethical permission (which she gave), and she needed to consistently monitor the kid as well.

But it’s also mostly because she liked spending time with Mandy, and she figures she needed a friend too, as much as she did before, so here she is.

“Hey,” Natasha greets, and Mandy’s smile widens, sitting back down in her seat when Natasha closes the door behind her. “Just thought I’d drop by before I do my final rounds before the shift ends.” she says, and Mandy smiles and nods.

“We’re doing great,” Mandy says, her eyes flickering over to Gabby asleep on the bed, her small chest rising and falling, albeit quickly than normal, but still rising and falling nonetheless. “As great as we can hope for, at least.”

“Hey, don’t lose hope,” Natasha says softly, walking over to the bed and sitting on the edge beside Gabby as she faces Mandy. “We’re getting there, aren’t we? Doctor Rogers had done the shunt revisions and he’s still constantly monitoring for any changes if there should be, and we’re closely studying what caused the blockages in her ventricles.” Natasha smiles widely. “We’re both doing our best to save her life  _ and _ contributing to medical science.”

Mandy laughs softly as she nods. “Glad to hear there’s at  _ least _ a silver lining to this,” she says, and Natasha smiles, watching as the mother takes Gabby’s hand in hers and giving it a light squeeze as her smile begins to fade. “It’s hard to find those nowadays, I guess.”

Natasha tilts her head slightly to the side as she watches Mandy. “I know we usually go here to check on how Gabby is, and we’re  _ supposed _ to, because we’re her doctors and all. But we never really do get to ask how you’re holding up,” she says softly, giving Mandy a gentle smile, as she looks up at Natasha with wide, surprised eyes. “How’ve you been holding up so far?” she asks lightly.

Mandy pauses, and Natasha sees her eyes getting glassier, her chin quivering slightly as she lets out a soft chuckle and a smile as she shakes her head. “Sorry, I…” she says, sniffling as she looks away from Natasha. “I got...I got carried away for a moment right there. Nobody ever asked that to me in a long time.” She huffs out a chuckle as she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and Natasha smiles.

She knows. She knows how she feels, which is why she’s doing it right now.

“I’m holding on,” Mandy replies, and Natasha nods understandingly. “I’m just... _ really _ holding on tight to any semblance of hope I can find.” she says as she nods. “And also just trying to get through one day after the other, despite the lingering feeling that  _ this _ might be the end, or  _ this _ might be the last and all that.” She shakes her head lightly. “Every night, I would just pray that she’ll make it to tomorrow, and when tomorrow comes, I’ll thank God she’s still here, but I’ll still say the same prayers at night. It’s just...it’s just in that cycle, and I’m scared at some point, it’s gonna break and stop when I wake up, and…” she trails off and shakes her head, her eyes filling with tears as she swallows down her throat, and Natasha nods solemnly.

She’s scared that at some point, it’s gonna break and stop, and she wakes up to find her daughter  _ gone. _ It’s a mother’s worst nightmare, and Natasha understands.

“I can’t lose her, Doctor, I can’t,” she says softly, almost pleadingly as she looks up at Natasha, just when a tear slips down her eyes and she quickly wipes it with the back of her hand as she sniffles and looks back at Gabby. “She doesn’t...she doesn’t have a father. He left before he even got to know her, never even came back. And the last I heard was that he has his own family,” she says, looking back at Natasha with a sad smile. “And it used to break my heart thinking about it, but I just figured...I just figured I should just move on and just focus on taking care of her, you know.” She shakes her head and looks back at Gabby, her one hand brushing Gabby’s hair gently. “I can’t lose to anything anymore, Doctor. I can’t lose  _ her _ either.”

Natasha’s heart aches for Mandy, and she shakes her head slightly. “I’m so sorry.” she whispers, and Mandy nods, giving Natasha a small smile and a sniffle.

“It’s okay,” Mandy responds, and she huffs out a quiet chuckle. “I’m normally not this emotional, you know.” She laughs softly as she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and Natasha chuckles. “I don’t know, I...I just feel like I’m more emotional being cooped up in a hospital room and my kid’s life is at stake—makes me feel a little crazy than usual.”

Natasha laughs softly at that, nodding because  _ yes, _ hospitals tend to really do that to mothers whose kids are the patients. “I do understand that. And it’s normal, really,” she says, and Mandy smiles. Natasha then lets out a breath as she gets up from the bed, the same time as Mandy gets up from her seat too. “Just hold on a little tighter, alright? Be strong for little Gabby.” she says and Mandy nods.

“Thanks, Doctor.” Mandy says with a smile, and Natasha nods, her eyes flickering over to Gabby.

But her smile fades, and she furrows her eyebrows slightly in confusion, something Mandy sees and is quick to notice, as her own eyebrows furrow as well as she looks at Natasha. “Wh-what’s wrong?” she asks, and Natasha looks back at Mandy, alarmed by how panicked she  _ might _ have made the mother feel.

“N-nothing, I just...” Natasha responds, trying to be as reassuring as she can, her eyes flickering back to Gabby for a moment, before she frowns completely, her eyebrows knit together in both worry and confusion, her heart pounding loudly inside her chest. She focuses on the sound of the heart monitor, the sound of a steady heartbeat, and her heart drops when she looks closely at the kid, and she starts to  _ wait _ for the sound to come…

Especially since Gabby’s chest had stopped rising and falling.

The heart monitor starts beeping rapidly, and Natasha is quick to walk over beside the bed to press the code blue emergency button, and Mandy starts to frown, her eyebrows knit in worry as she’s almost afraid to walk over beside the bed across Natasha, who looks up to find the crash team enter in with the cart. Natasha lays her hand on the girl’s chest, feeling  _ no _ rise and fall at all,  _ no _ breathing patterns—no shortness of breath or whatsoever. She wears the stethoscope, moving the chest piece over the kid’s chest to find a weak and almost  _ dying _ heartbeat and a strange murmur.

“Page Carter and Rogers, tell them that it’s a code blue, and I can’t find a pulse nor hear a heartbeat,” she instructs one of the nurses who nod and immediately pulls out her phone to page the mentioned doctors. Natasha swallows down her throat and looks at Mandy, whose eyes are wide, a tear slipping down her eyes as she looks at Natasha, fear spread all over her face. “Mandy...I need you to step away for a moment, please—”

“Is she okay?” Mandy asks, her voice breaking as she starts crying, fresh tears falling from her eyes as she looks at Natasha who just sighs shakily. “Doctor, is she—”

“Doctor Romanoff, we’re ready.” one of the nurses says, and Natasha takes a shaky breath, nodding as she turns back quickly to the team of nurses and takes her place to the side of the bed beside the crash cart, grabbing the defibrillator and rubbing it together.

She announces the charge, announces it every single time to  _ no _ avail, raising it higher and higher as each attempt to raise the kid’s heartbeat to normality fails.  _ Come on, Gabby, _ she thinks with gritted teeth, after charging to 200 and still getting an even  _ weaker _ heartbeat, the rapid beeping getting faster and louder it begins to ring in Natasha’s head, almost drowning her and overwhelming her until she lifts her head to look at the door. Steve and Sharon eventually come in running, and Steve takes his place beside Natasha as she looks up at him and shakes her head.

“She’s crashing, Steve, I...” she begins to say, her voice strained and weak, a sense of panic rising in her throat, as Steve nods understandingly, taking the defibrillator from her hands as she takes a step back and takes a spot beside him as he takes a step closer to Gabby. He announces a higher charge, and after a moment, the room begins to fill with the loud flat tone of a flatline heart.

Natasha watches frantically,  _ pleading _ in her head to  _ please, _ please make the girl live, because she  _ has _ to. Because she’s just a  _ kid, _ and because her mother had already lost  _ so _ much, and she had just confided to Natasha how she  _ can’t _ afford to lose her. Natasha’s vision begins to blur, especially as she watches Steve perform CPR, yet to no avail as the heart monitor continues to flash a flatline, and the room—and eventually, her  _ head _ —begins to be filled with  _ only _ the flatline from the heart monitor, being the  _ loudest _ sound inside the room apart from Mandy’s frantic loud cries, pleas and sobs, apart from Steve’s mutters, huffs and instructions to inject the necessary medicines with every push he makes in the CPR in an attempt to revive the girl. Natasha begins to tune out, and the only thing she can focus on—the  _ loudest _ sound she can hear, yet also the most devastating one at that, is the flatline tone coming from the heart monitor, knowing who it’s connected to, knowing how  _ old _ the patient it’s connected to, and it’s the loudest, most  _ fucking _ devastating thing she can ever hear.

Because a child had just died. A  _ three-year-old _ had just died, and absolutely  _ nothing _ in the world can ever be more devastating than that.

The sound of the flatline—the loudest sound inside the room, and Natasha can still hear it despite the monitor being turned off by one of the nurses, despite the room now being filled with Mandy’s cries, and despite Sharon’s announcement of the child’s time of death at 6:03 PM. Natasha’s vision blurs, and she begins to blink, oblivious to the feel of the hot tears flowing down her eyes, as she solely focuses on the nurses draping a white sheet over the girl’s body. She doesn’t hear Mandy’s loud cries, doesn’t even notice Sharon trying to hold her back from throwing herself over the kid’s body. She can only hear the loud flatline tone from the heart monitor, ringing inside her ears and inside her head, her vision beginning to blur and her surroundings getting more distorted even as she forces herself to blink rapidly, and she blinks, she does so to clear her vision, but it’s  _ not _ working, it’s  _ not _ working at all—

And when she opens her mouth, she feels bile rising in her throat that she feels like she’s  _ about _ to throw up, her chest constricting  _ so _ painfully tightly that her breath hitches in her throat, her throat also constricting tight that she finds it difficult to  _ breathe, _ and she can’t be here, she  _ can’t _ be in this room, can’t be in this place, can’t  _ stand _ seeing the white sheet on top of a small frail body of a little girl...

So Natasha forces her legs to move, forces herself to  _ walk, _ just so she can make it until outside the room, because  _ no, _ she can’t have this right now, she can’t  _ have _ an episode right now when a  _ kid _ just died, and when a mother is mourning so badly, and she can’t  _ help _ but think that she had been  _ so _ close to being like  _ her, _ so close to losing her kid, her  _ daughter, _ who had been so young,  _ so _ young, with a supposed long life ahead of her, that she didn’t  _ deserve _ to not have experienced the fullness of it all, and—

She didn’t deserve to die.  _ No _ kid ever deserves to die, especially young little girls who make their mothers happy, who are the sunshines of this world, their mothers’ greatest treasure, their most precious angels…

She sighs shakily as she turns the corner to the hall, and she tries to swallow down her throat in an attempt to clear it just so she can breathe shallowly, feeling the room starting to spin, the walls almost moving and the floors becoming more distorted as she becomes  _ more _ and more unable to  _ breathe _ properly, her throat hurting and constricting as if someone’s holding her neck tight and strangling her. And she can’t even  _ see _ properly, unsure whether it’s the tears or whether it’s her inability to breathe or the overwhelming panic rising slowly inside of her that she tries  _ so _ hard to push down because she  _ can’t _ have another one of this right now because she doesn’t have the  _ goddamn _ time, much less the energy to deal with it because she  _ has _ to get to her daughter fast. She has to get to her, to embrace her in her arms, to assure herself that  _ her _ baby is okay, so she  _ has _ to get to her baby, to her little Sarah…

_ How close was she to losing her, like how Mandy had lost Gabby just today? _

And the thought of it is enough to completely  _ break _ her, as she practically puts her whole weight against the emergency door exit, and she stumbles against the nearby wall of the emergency exit, not even hearing her own screams, cries and gasps, not even  _ feeling _ her nails clawing and digging in her scalp as her fingers begin to run through her hair, curling as she grabs onto strands of her hair and pulls it to get a  _ fucking _ grip of herself, to even  _ try _ to feel something because she  _ can’t _ feel  _ anything, _ except for the tightness in her chest and throat, not allowing her to breathe, and the pins needles in her whole body that it’s just  _ so _ painful and so suffocating, and torturous, and—

She doesn’t even hear the loud footsteps that followed her as she drops on the floor, her back resting on the wall, can’t even hear someone calling her name frantically, not even hearing the door open and her name being uttered by a gentle and familiar voice, because all she hears is the blood pounding inside her ears, her heart thumping  _ loudly _ inside her chest and the flatline from the heart monitor earlier—

“Nat.” She suddenly hears, in  _ one _ split moment of clarity, where she is able to gain control of her body to lift her head and focus her eyes on a pair of blue eyes looking at her—the pair of blue eyes that gives her yet again  _ another _ moment of clarity, where she just looks at it, where she just looks at  _ him. _ But as quick as the moment of clarity had been to come to her, it’s also as quick to leave, for it to be all  _ gone, _ and she doesn’t want it to be gone!

She lets out a scream that comes out as a strained whimper, opening her mouth to speak, to call out to the pair of blue eyes, but instead letting out a wheeze and a choked sob as a sense of panic starts rising inside her again, and she attempts to move, to claw back just to be able to see the pair of blue eyes again, but she  _ can’t. _ It only makes it  _ worse, _ because she  _ knows _ those blue eyes, and she wants to hold on even just for a moment longer to look at them to calm her down, but her visions begin to blur again, her head spinning and the  _ entire _ room spinning as she attempts to breathe deeply but  _ can’t. _

Steve lets out a breath as he crouches in front of her, his hands lifting to her face, his fingers brushing away the stray hair on her cold and sweaty face, his thumbs brushing her cheeks gently, brushing away the tears under her eyes as he looks at her eyes. He looks into her eyes, and finds them out of focus, glassy and red-rimmed and  _ frantic. _ He does his best to calm down, to calm the pounding inside his chest at watching her run from the room earlier, her body swaying and crashing against doors and walls as he did his best to catch up to her, and call her name, but she had just been too fast and too lost and too frantic, and he was almost scared of where she might end up, or what might happen to her.

He takes a shaky breath as Steve moves to gently take her hands, giving it a light squeeze as he looks into her eyes. “Nat, you hear me?” he asks softly, squeezing her hands in a  _ pattern, _ and he does so almost instinctively, almost as a reflex as he focuses his eyes on her, as he focuses on her short breaths and whimpers and wheezes. “You hear me, Tasha? It’s Steve, it’s me.”

She doesn’t respond, doesn’t whimper nor even squeeze his hands back and Steve shakes his head slightly as he continues to squeeze her hands. “Not today,” he says softly and gently, the way he knows she likes, the way he knows will do the trick to calm her down. “Not today, Tasha, alright? Not today, you say it with me.” he repeats, giving her hands another squeeze as he searches her eyes that are still out of focus, wide and glassy as tears continue to fall from her eyes.

But he waits patiently, and he watches as her eyebrows furrow, as if in frustration yet also in concentration, as she slowly breathes in quickly and shakily, and she opens her mouth to let out a small strained whimper as Steve nods, giving her a small smile. “Okay, that’s it.” he says softly. He inches himself closer, until he is sitting beside her, his hands not letting go of hers. He purses her lips as he lifts one of her hands to rest on his chest, on the spot over his heart where she could feel it beating, where she could feel his chest rising and falling, where he knows she can feel to follow him breathe. He rests his hand on top of hers on his chest, his other hand squeezing the other gently and lightly, until he finally feels her cold clammy fingers wrapping around his hand tightly, as if holding on for dear life, her own breaths starting to slow, slowly following the rising and falling of  _ his _ chest, slowly following the way he’s breathing.

He nods slowly, letting out a small smile even if he knows she wouldn’t see him, not with her eyes closed, not when he knows she’s solely focused on the feel of his heartbeat, and the way his chest rises and falls. “That’s it, Nat,” he says softly, giving her hand atop his chest a light squeeze as well as he breathes, and he eventually sees and hears her own breaths normalizing, mimicking his patterns. “You’re doing okay. You’re doing great.” he says softly.

And Natasha releases a sigh, her head falling on his shoulder as he pulls her close, letting go of her one hand to brush his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp gently. “You’re with me here,” Steve says softly and gently, adjusting Natasha’s head so that she’s resting her head over his chest, over his  _ heart, _ so this time she can  _ hear _ it, the way he knows she likes to in moments like these. He watches as her face relaxes, her furrowed eyebrows relaxing, her mouth opening slightly to take a deep and shaky breath. “And you’re with me always.” he continues softly, and she swallows down her throat, her eyes still closed as she buries her face further in his chest, her hand squeezing his tightly.

“You’re with me here,” she repeats, her voice small and strained, and she swallows down her throat as she sighs. “And you’re with me always.”

“That’s right,” Steve whispers, letting out a small smile as he lifts a hand to brush her cheek gently with his thumb. “That’s my girl.” he says, his fingers running through her hair and cradling her head as she turns her face further in his chest.

He continues to hold her, to gently brush his fingers through her sweaty hair as he listens to her slowing and steadying breaths. He can’t remember,  _ really, _ the last time this happened to her. He can’t remember the last time he was able to do this trick to calm her down, and he begins to wonder if, during the three years he had been gone, she’d had these kinds of episodes as well. He wonders if there had been someone to help her through it, and he’s confident that there might have been someone, there might have been people she had shared this technique with, and he wonders if it works all the same to calm her quickly.

He releases a shaky breath as well, feeling his heart relaxing, the knot inside his chest slowly being released, as he holds her tightly, his face burying in her hair as he closes his eyes. When he had watched her run out the door earlier, he  _ knew. _ He knew, by the way her legs wobbled, by the way she had hit the door and the walls, by the way she had been whimpering and choking back sobs, that Gabby Byers’ death did quite a number on her, more than how Gabby’s death had did a number on him too. He could only imagine the things running through her head—of how seeing Gabby’s unmoving and pale body might have reminded her of Sarah, of how  _ close _ it might have been for Natasha to lose her, the same way Mandy had lost Gabby. He could only imagine the panic rising inside of her, as she did her best to quell down the panic rising inside of her just so she can go to daycare and assure herself that their little girl is still alive, that she’s healthy and happy and she’s not sick or dying, and he could only imagine her eventually succumbing to the suffocating thought of a  _ what-if— _ that what if the kid had been Sarah, and  _ she _ had been Mandy, who had filled the room with her own pained cries and sobs, as she holds her baby for one  _ last _ time before finally letting her go even though she doesn’t want to.

Because a parent shouldn’t have to live longer than her child, shouldn’t have to watch her child die and only feel the ghost of their snuggles at night before they sleep.

Natasha takes a shaky breath as she lifts her head from his chest, and Steve loosens his hold on her as he guides her into sitting upright beside him, his one hand lifting to brush the hair away from her face as she sighs shakily and pulls away from him slightly. Steve’s heart aches at that, his chest constricting as he rests both of his hands on his lap, watching as Natasha sniffle and run her fingers through her hair, almost refusing to look at him.

But she does, and he looks into her red-rimmed green eyes, giving her a small smile as she sighs and gives him a small nod. “I’m okay.” she whispers, and he nods.

“You’re okay,” he responds softly, giving her a small sad smile as the corners of his eyes begin to sting. “You’re okay.” he repeats.

Natasha nods slowly, looking away from Steve as she lets out a slow breath. “Where’s, uh…” she trails off, swallowing down her throat as she feels her eyes slowly filling with tears. “Where’s...did...is she—” She stops herself, and shakes her head as she looks at him, her eyes wide and glassy, communicating with him the question she can’t form into words:  _ Is Mandy okay? _

“We gave her time,” Steve says quietly, his voice cracking as he nods slowly. “Have one last goodbye.”

Natasha’s bottom lip wobbles, her face scrunching slightly as she shakes her head. “She shouldn’t have.” she whispers, and Steve nods slowly, pursing his lips tightly to prevent the tears from falling down his eyes.

“I know,” he whispers, looking away from Natasha as he lowers his head and purses her lips. “We did our best.”

They really did. And they have also yet to find out what caused the cardiac arrest that killed the girl, but they figure that it could wait until tomorrow, until the dust settles and they could think more clearly. They really did think it was gonna work, that she was going to make it but she didn’t, and whether it’s fate or it’s the cruelty of the universe and how  _ unfair _ the universe is being, they have also yet to find out.

“I have to get to Sarah,” Natasha whispers, and Steve looks up at her as she looks at him. “We have to get to Sarah.”

Steve nods at that, swallowing down his throat as he clears it. “How ‘bout, uh...we get our things first, get changed and wash a bit,” he says quietly. “Then we go back up to her?”

Because they don’t want their little girl to see them like this, more so they don’t want their little girl to see Natasha like that. She nods understandingly, and she lets out a sigh as she gets up from the floor, and Steve follows suit. She gives him a small nod before turning to push the emergency door open to walk back to the hall, and Steve sighs as he stays behind for a moment, biting his bottom lip and closing his eyes as he shakes his head slightly.

When he gets down to the lounge, Natasha has already changed, and is now slowly fixing her things from the locker. She lifts her head to look at him when he enters, and he sighs and gives her a small nod as she nods back silently before turning back to her things. Things should be  _ said, _ she thinks, because somehow she thinks the death of their patient have changed something in them—stirred something in them perhaps, and this is apart from the growing love they have for their little girl, and their growing ache to be as close to her as possible at all times. She should say something,  _ either _ one of them should, but she doesn’t know  _ what _ to say. And when she looks up to find him by his locker, his eyebrows knitting together as if deep in thought, as he reaches for something inside his locker she’s not sure he was conscious of reaching or just simply lost in thought, she knows he doesn’t either.

They’re too struck, perhaps, by the loss of this kid—by the loss of the girl that reminded them of their daughter, and to add the emotional baggage of the limbo they’re in in their relationship? It  _ is _ a little too much. So she just leaves it at that, a tense silence hanging between them, filling the entire room especially since it’s just the two of them inside.

But not for long, they suppose. The door opens, and their heads lift to find Sharon walking inside the lounge. The pediatric surgeon takes a deep breath as her eyes flicker at the both of them, and she releases a slow breath when she  _ feels _ once again the tense atmosphere between them, the  _ unbearable  _ one that she honestly shouldn’t have business about, but is already  _ too _ much (even for her!) that after one hell of a day filled with surgeries, after witnessing a child die and after attempting to quell a mourning mother’s griefs, she honestly  _ can’t _ take it.

She closes the door, and finds the both of them turn away from her and back to their lockers, and she watches as the both of them look almost defeated, hypnotized by whatever it is that is in their lockers when she knows very well that it’s not the lockers who have their attention but rather it’s their refusal to settle whatever the hell  _ happened _ to them that is contributing to this tense and heavy atmosphere. And she is  _ not _ about to spend the rest of her few minutes living and suffocating in this tense silence.

“Alright,” Sharon says with a sigh, tucking her hands inside the pockets of her coat, and both Steve and Natasha look up at her, their eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she looks at both of them and she shakes her head. “I don’t know if I should say something, or if anything I’m about to say is gonna make things feel more awkward, but it  _ has _ to be said, because you  _ guys, _ this atmosphere is  _ killing _ me, and it’s killing the rest of the hospital too.” She raises an eyebrow. “So I think I’m just gonna say it.”

Steve furrows his eyebrows slightly as he blinks and looks at Sharon, and Natasha looks away from her, then back at the locker, her eyebrows knit together stubbornly. So Sharon sighs and nods over at Natasha. “You, Natasha Romanoff,” she says, and Natasha looks up at Sharon. “ You’re at 0.9% in your mortality rate. And you, Rogers,” She looks at Steve. “You’re at a 1.2% rate, but it’s  _ really _ nothing to be ashamed of because cardiac surgeries are much riskier and frankly more complex and life-threatening than neuro surgeries. And Nat, your number’s still lower than Steve’s because you’ve had a lower number of surgeries than him.” Sharon shrugs, after seeing both their confused faces. “I looked it up. Plus, it’s one of the things the hospital is proud of —about how their doctors have low mortality rates.”

Sharon releases a breath as she shakes her head. “And I know they’re both low, but they’re still  _ deaths. _ They’re still mortalities, which means no matter how few they are, you have still encountered deaths, people dying, families being told their loved ones had died. You’ve encountered them all, lived through them all.” She pauses. “Both of you know as much as I do, both of you have witnessed as much as I did how the universe is quick to take a life, and how painful it is to lose someone close to you, to lose someone you love. And both of you know as much as I do that in moments like these, second chances are rare even if you start begging for ‘em because science, and the  _ world _ in general, rarely gives that away to anyone.”

Steve lowers his head, and Natasha looks away from Sharon who shakes her head and releases a breath. “Earlier, the mother was begging to get her daughter back, that if she could wish for  _ one _ thing, it’s that she could get a second chance to make things right for her daughter. But we know she can’t have that, no matter how many times she begs for it, she can’t have that.” She pauses, biting her bottom lip as she shakes her head. “And generally speaking for the patients’ loved ones, you know that if they would be given a second chance, they would grab it, just so for  _ one _ last time they could make it right, and just so for  _ one _ last time, they’d be able to say the things they were unable to say to their loved ones, or maybe hold them or kiss them if they didn’t get to when they were alive. It’s usually what patients’ families would ask for, and both of you know that.”

And Sharon clenches her jaw as she looks down at her feet. “But  _ you, _ both of you, are given a second chance. And I know this is different —that this isn’t a life-or-death situation, that whatever you would choose to do in whatever it is that happened to you, you’d still come out alive.  _ Heartbroken, _ maybe, or mourning or grieving for a lost love, but still alive,” she says quietly, and she looks up at both of them. “But if you won’t grab that second chance—to right your wrongs, to be able to forgive, or tell your loved one how much you love them, to be able to say things you weren’t able to say, or hold them or kiss them every second they’re alive, then you’re foolish into wasting a once-in-a-lifetime chance not many people in this world are lucky to have. You’re foolish into thinking that in  _ this _ hospital alone, you’re wasting a kind of privilege people in the O.R. waiting room are  _ wishing _ to have for themselves, because everyone knows that if you get a second chance at life and happiness we seize it regardless of who had left who, or who had hurt who, because now we know what matters, and  _ now _ we know it’s precious.”

Sharon sighs, watching as Natasha’s glassy eyes flicker over to Steve, who turns his head to look at her. “So I’m saying...as your colleague and as an old friend, fix  _ whatever _ the  _ hell _ this is,” she says, furrowing her eyebrows as she looks at both of them. “Grow some balls, grab the second chance given to you, and never look back.”

She looks at both of them, and she sighs, closing her eyes as she shakes her head before she hangs her head low. Great,  _ now, _ she has to leave them before she stays in the lounge to fix her things. She lifts her head, and bites her bottom lip, turning back from them as she opens the door to the lounge to walk back into the surgical floor.  _ Maybe she should have said the whole thing after she fixed her things?, _ she thinks, but Sharon just shrugs, walking over to the nurses’ station to retrieve post-op records, pulling her pen out to fill them out, deciding to instead make her waiting time productive, and would just leave when she sees the both of them do.

She just hopes they will, and she hopes they would leave fast too, hoping her little speech from the top of her head had struck a nerve or two, helped them or fixed them, or at least  _ gave _ them the wake-up call to do  _ something, _ because no, she is  _ not _ about to suffocate in the tense atmosphere between them again, especially not when the three of them will start working  _ again. _

And it did, especially when Steve looks up to Natasha who lowers her head and closes her eyes, Sharon’s words ringing inside her head:  _ You’re foolish into thinking that in this hospital alone, you’re wasting a kind of privilege people in the O.R. waiting room are wishing to have for themselves, because everyone knows that if you get a second chance at life and happiness we seize it regardless of who had left who, or who had hurt who, because now we know what matters, and now we know it’s precious. _

A second chance at life and happiness, a piece of it experienced over the last weeks Steve had been waiting for them in front of the hospital, with a cup of coffee in his hand, with the bright smile on his lips and the sparkle in his eyes. A piece of it seen in the way Sarah laughs, in the way she giggles and embraces both of her parents tightly. A piece of it seen in the way  _ her _ heart flutters when he would make  _ her _ laugh, the way she smiles and laughs when he would tell her about a story when they would come back after lunch with Sarah, and when they would go up together and he would listen closely and intently at  _ her _ own stories. She knows they’re pieces, that  _ those _ things aren’t the final one yet, but she had held on to these things so closely to her heart that she thinks it could work, that  _ these _ moments of happiness can work with her and she’ll be okay with it.

She knows these chances of happiness should be seized, but when she got too close, she had become afraid, began to ask questions of whether or not she  _ is _ ready to have these chances seized, especially when she had experienced losing all of it at once before. But then again, like Sharon said:  _ Grow some balls, grab the second chance given to you, and never look back. _

Never look back.

“Nat?” Steve asks softly, and she looks up at him, her eyes landing on his soft gentle blue eyes, and he gives her a small albeit hesitant smile. “D’you and...would…” he trails off, and he takes a deep breath, as if gathering enough courage as he swallows down his throat and gives her a smile. “Would you and Sarah like to go to dinner with me? Just the three of us?” he asks almost shyly. “Just...to restart things, I guess, and…” He shakes his head lightly. “Just the three of us. Just us.”

Is she ready to seize it, now it’s  _ really _ being given to her?

Natasha tips her chin slightly, the corner of her mouth quirking upward. “How ‘bout at my place?” she asks softly, and Steve perks slightly at that, his smile widening slightly. “Just order takeout, and...so we can spend time with Sarah more properly.”  _ So we could talk more properly, if necessary. _

Steve nods and smiles, straightening his back. “Okay,” he says softly with a nod. “Okay, I...I don’t know where you live, but...I can buy some food. I-I’ll ask Sarah what she wants, then I’ll buy. Then I’ll just follow, just text me the address of where you are.”

Natasha swallows down her throat and smiles as she nods. “Okay.” she says softly, looking at Steve as he smiles, and her heart begins to flutter inside her chest.

_ Grab the second chance, and never look back. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry for the great tragedy by the near end :c i'm keeping up w the tradition of grey's being a huge heartbreaker (first few seasons of greys at least lol). also i SWEAR i wrote the buckynat wayy before it blew up from the last few chapters HAHAHA so im sori if this wont be a buckynat story at all but i swear their friendship wont end here.
> 
> leave comments! also again, rly sorry i've been posting late; uni is killing me ever so slowly :')


	15. From Scratch

It turns out their little girl  _ really _ only likes McDonald’s nuggets and had refused to explore other options, even if those would include fried chicken or chicken fingers. She just  _ really _ really likes McDonald’s nuggets, and even as Natasha gives Steve a disapproved smile because of his tolerance to the toddler’s “unhealthy” appetite, even  _ she _ can’t say no when their daughter looked at them with wide green eyes, her bottom lip wobbling as she looks at her Mommy.

“She got that from you, you know,” Steve had told her teasingly before he walked towards his car. “Whenever you’d want things, you’d just widen your eyes with that puppy-eyes look.”

Natasha scoffed, unable to keep the smirk forming on her mouth. “You’re not so much as an angel, Steve,  _ you _ basically invented the puppy-eyes look,” she told him. “I just happen to do it better than you.”

“Well, looks like  _ somebody _ has beat you to it.” Steve said, leaning to press a kiss on Sarah’s cheeks as the toddler giggled in Natasha’s arms, wiggling and pressing her hands on Steve’s cheeks as he grinned and pressed a small kiss on her nose. Natasha smiled at the sight, her heart fluttering inside her chest at seeing the whole sweet interaction unfold.

It’s even sweeter and more surreal now, especially when she walks over to the door of her apartment upon hearing a knock, and when she opens the door, she finds Steve with two bags of McDonald’s in both of his hands. He gives her a smile as he holds the two bags up. “Special McDonald’s delivery?” he teases lightly, and Natasha chuckles softly as she steps aside to let him inside.

“Daddy!” Sarah squeals, and Steve smiles widely especially when the toddler stands from her playmat and begins to run over to her father. Natasha takes the two bags from Steve’s hands so he can catch the very excited toddler, lifting her to his hip and pressing a kiss on the side of her head as Sarah wraps her arms around his neck in an embrace.

“She’s been pretty excited and waiting for you to get here as soon as we got home,” Natasha says from the dining room, and Steve chuckles as he follows her to the dining room, which is really only a few steps away from the living room, considering its main partition is a kitchen counter with cereal boxes on top. “I’m not entirely sure if it’s  _ you _ she’s waiting for or the chicken nuggets, though.” she says teasingly with a raised eyebrow. “Babe, which one are you more excited for —Daddy or nuggies?”

“Nuggies!” Sarah answers, and Steve’s eyes widen exaggeratedly as he looks at his daughter in “surprise”, trying to refrain from letting out an amused smile, as Natasha laughs loudly, and Sarah giggles as she looks at Steve with a sheepish smile.

“You like nuggies more than Daddy?” he asks, sticking out his bottom lip as he looks at Sarah who giggles loudly and nods her head. “You love nuggies more than Daddy?” he asks.

“Love Daddy!” Sarah exclaims, hugging her father again as Steve chuckles softly, and Natasha just watches by the side, a soft smile on her face as she watches the interaction. “But love nuggies too.” she adds softly, and Steve laughs, rubbing the girl’s back as he presses a kiss on her blonde wavy hair.

And they have dinner—the three of them, in Natasha’s dining table with him sitting across from her, and their daughter in her high chair by the head of the table. They talk over chicken nuggets and french fries, over light stories of past surgical mistakes, sweet nostalgia and the toddler’s own little stories in daycare. They laugh over the most mundane things—like when Sarah had dropped a french fry on the floor and she attempted to go down to get it so she can eat it, or when she would have some barbecue sauce on the tip of her nose and Natasha was trying to figure out  _ how _ could she have barbecue sauce on the tip of her nose when she doesn’t even eat the nuggets  _ with _ the sauce. They laugh when Sarah tries to feed Steve some fries, and when Steve tells an inside joke they once shared to Natasha, who laughs and snorts loudly, while Sarah follows suit, even though she doesn’t understand it, but when she sees her parents laugh, then she does too.

Steve gets to know the little girl better too. He finds out that her favorite color is pink, and that her favorite Disney show is the Little Mermaid, and even though he already  _ knew _ that from the weeks they have spent, he only realized the intensity of her love for Disney because of how she had memorized the lyrics to Under the Sea and Part of Your World. He learns that his little girl has a lovely singing voice too, and that she takes after Natasha for that. He finds out that she has more Lego blocks and toy Barbie cars in her toy collection than dolls, and prefers to play with them most of the time too contrary to what she plays when she’s up in daycare because—in her own words—the “boys always get the good toys”, referring to the toy cars and Lego blocks.

He also learns that their little girl had picked up most of Natasha’s small quirks too, like the scrunch of her nose whenever she would start laughing, her small signature smirk and the way she would quirk her mouth to the side, her eyebrows furrowing as she would squint her eyes in concentration whenever she would think before answering a question. Throughout the dinner, he can’t help but feel his heart flutter, his heart in awe and marvel at the fact that this little girl really  _ is _ a little Natasha, from the way she looks, how she speaks so gently and intelligently for a two-and-a-half year old, and from the way she moves too. He knows he’s a  _ little _ biased, but Steve can honestly say that this little girl— _ his _ and Natasha’s little girl is the most beautiful and perfect girl he had ever met.

And he only feels himself loving Natasha more for giving her to him.

Sarah persuades them to watch a movie with her—her  _ favorite, _ of course, which is Little Mermaid. Steve watches as Natasha contemplates for a while on her little girl’s request, considering the fact that it was already pushing her bedtime.

“But Daddy here,” Sarah says quietly, pouting as she looks up at Natasha. “Want watch movie with Daddy and Mommy.” she whines, and Natasha sighs as she looks at Steve, who is looking at her silently and expectantly, as if waiting for  _ her _ to have the final say even though she can see it in  _ his _ eyes how much he wants to watch a movie with their little toddler too.

And she’d be lying if she says she doesn’t, too, so…

“Alright,” Natasha sighs and Sarah cheers as Steve grins, raising an eyebrow at Natasha, as if telling her  _ “I told you so” _ especially with the puppy-eyes look Sarah had been giving her mother, and Natasha returns his look with an mocked glare, the corner of her mouth quirking upward slightly. “But we’re going to wash up first, okay? Brush teeth, change to PJs just in case you get sleepy after the movie, okay?” She really meant  _ during _ the movie, which she’s sure Sarah really  _ will _ do, but she figures saying it would just make the toddler resist so she just figured it won’t be too smart in telling the toddler the truth.

“Daddy stay?” Sarah asks softly, looking up at her father. “Daddy wait, stay movie?” she asks, and Steve nods as he smiles gently at his daughter.

“I’m just gonna be here, sweetie,” he replies softly, leaning forward to press an assuring kiss on the girl’s forehead as he brushes her hair gently. “I’ll be here once you and Mommy finish washing up, okay? And then we can all watch a movie together.” he says, and Sarah’s wide smile is enough to make his heart melt as she nods and looks over at her mother.

And so Natasha takes Sarah to Natasha’s bedroom, leaving the toddler there for a moment while she retrieves Sarah’s pyjamas from the other room (Sarah’s bedroom, he supposes). She comes out of the room with a small onesie and towel in her hands, and she looks at Steve who is beginning to tidy the dining table. “It won’t take a while,” she tells him softly, as he looks up at her and gives her a small smile. “I hope you don’t mind, just make yourself at home here.” she says, and he nods at her assuringly.

“Of course,” he responds softly. “I’ll just clear up the table. I…” he trails off and looks around the dining area. “Is it okay if I just...navigate my way around your kitchen?”

“Yeah, of course,” Natasha says, and she lets out a soft chuckle. “You know I’m not too particular with the kitchen area of any apartment I live in.”

He knows that, but he just thought it might be different this time, he supposes. He lets out a quiet chuckle as he nods and ducks his head. “Yeah, I know.” he says softly with a nod, and he lifts his head to watch Natasha give him a small gentle smile before she enters her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

He moves around her dining room, albeit hesitantly despite Natasha’s initial permission for him to make himself at home in  _ her _ home, gathering the plate Sarah has used for her nuggets and fries, as well as her small utensils, and he lays it in the kitchen sink. He cleans the dining table, gathering the empty boxes of nuggets and the packets that held the fries and put it all inside the paper bags. His eyes flicker over to the cabinets, carefully eyeing and opening each one until he finds the trash bins, where he is able to dispose of the trash, finally clean the dining table and wash the plate and utensils. Once he lifts his head, he turns, and his eyes get caught by the drawings stuck on the fridge, as well as various photos on it as well.

He wipes his hands with a paper towel, disposing of it and putting it inside his pocket as he walks closer to the fridge, where, apart from Natasha’s work schedule for the month is posted, as well as rental and utility bills, drawings of colorful crayon squiggles, as well as vague yet somehow distinct drawings of a woman and a little girl (both of which have red and yellow hair respectively), are posted up, held by Little Mermaid fridge magnets. The corner of his mouth quirks up, and he lets out a small chuckle as he lifts a hand to rest it on the drawing. He stares at the empty space beside the supposed drawing of Natasha, and he can’t help but feel a faint pang in his chest, of how he’s also supposed to  _ be _ there, how there’s supposed to be a drawing of a man with yellow hair too, perhaps also holding the redheaded woman’s hand, and how these figures shouldn’t at all be two, but rather three.

He was supposed to be here earlier, supposed to be here from the very start but he wasn’t.

He tears his eyes away from the fridge, and walks his way to the living room. The apartment is spacious and clean, beautiful and well-lit, especially during daylight, he supposes, because of the large window overlooking the streets of the neighborhood. He observes the rounded edges of the shelves and tables, as well as the covered plugs and well-organized cords, and he figures that the whole apartment is still very much baby-proofed as well. He begins to wonder how long has Natasha been living here, wondering exactly when she moved here. Did she move immediately after he left? Or did she have to stay in the shared apartment they had, the one that’s smaller and more cramped compared to her current one, more visually constricting because of how cramped their furnitures were, and more constricting, he supposes, with how much it reminded her of the two of them? She must’ve sold it, left it in a haste, sold every piece of thing they bought together—

_ Well, _ he thinks, as he walks over to the oak bookshelf standing in the corner beside the large window and the mounted TV screen.  _ She didn’t sell everything. _

The shelf used to hold the medical books he owned, the ones that she owned too, when she had been studying for boards when she had been a resident. It used to hold their photos, of sentimental trinkets and corny picture frames with cheesy quotes placed beside photos of them as caught by their friends, and even the ones they took for themselves. Now, the same shelf in a different apartment, none of those photos are here anymore, nor were the sentimental trinkets. It’s still lined with books, of course, and he recognizes a few that she had owned since when she had been a resident, but most of which are now replaced by books on neurosurgery at the topmost part, and storybooks for children by the bottom, where he supposes Sarah can easily reach.

His eyes flicker over to the photos lined on the shelf, his heart aching yet also  _ not _ expecting, really, when he finds no photos of them, none that had once been in this very shelf as well before. It’s mostly photos of Sarah, of Sarah and her, of Sarah and her aunties and uncles in the hospital, of a baby Sarah and Yelena, but none of him, which,  _ really, _ he didn’t expect at all. But it still hurt, of course.

It hurt not seeing himself on one of the photos on the shelf, but most of all, it hurt how he had missed all of these photos right here.

He looks at them carefully and one by one. His eyes flicker to the photo on the leftmost of the shelf, and he lifts his hand to pick the small frame up, the corner of his mouth quirking upward slightly as he looks at a photo of a baby Sarah. She is wrapped in a pink blanket, her eyes closed as she slept, her thick tuft of blonde hair partly covered by a small white cap, her cheeks rosy and her lips curved into a smile—a seemingly satisfied one at that, that he begins to wonder if Natasha had taken the photo after feeding her when she had been a newborn. She looked no older than two months, still very small and chubby, her fists clenched and tucked under her chin as she slept tightly. His mind started drifting of how small she had been that time, how fragile she must be when being held, how her hair might have smelled like milk, how her skin might have been so smooth and soft as a newborn baby. Of course, his baby still has smooth hair and soft skin, her hair mostly smelling like vanilla, but it’s  _ different, _ he thinks. It’s different, holding a baby and watching that baby grow into a beautiful little toddler.

He missed that. He missed all of it.

He puts the photo down, and his eyes get caught by a framed photo at the back, and he slowly reaches for it, careful not to knock the other framed photos down, until he comes face to face with it—a photo of a pregnant Natasha in a light pink maternity dress, smiling widely at the photo, her hand resting on her pregnant belly and her bright green eyes sparkling in both excitement and joy. She looked absolutely beautiful in the photo, fantastically  _ glowing, _ like how others might describe expecting mothers, and Natasha had been that. She had been  _ that _ mother, who was probably over the moon when the news of her having a daughter had reached her, that despite whatever heartbreak he may have caused her merely months before this photo was probably taken had been completely washed away, replaced with such excitement that made her so radiant, so beautiful, and...so perfect.

And he missed it. He missed  _ all _ of it, all of  _ her. _

His heart constricts at the thought, at the  _ reality _ of him missing Natasha’s pregnancy, of him missing the opportunity to take care of her, to bring her food during her midnight cravings, or massage her back and feet gently when she’s in pain, or hold her hand when she had been in labor. His heart aches at the reality of him missing Sarah’s birth, of him missing the sleepless nights and the diaper changes, of singing lullabies and holding her for the  _ very _ first time. The guilt would never go away, he supposes, even as Natasha allows him to stay in Sarah’s life forever, and allow him to co-parent with her so they could raise Sarah together. The guilt would still eat him up, even when Natasha would decide she would forgive him, even when she would decide to finally let herself fall in love with him again. Should the universe allow them to  _ be _ together at all, the guilt, he supposes, the  _ aching _ and burning guilt mixed with shame and regret, will forever stay.

The door opens, and he puts Natasha’s framed photo back on the shelf, and he turns around to find his daughter in a multi-colored stripe onesie—the one Natasha had in her hands earlier—running towards him, giggling and bouncing excitedly as she extends her arms towards him. He smiles widely and chuckles as he crouches down to catch her, lifting her to his hip as he presses his lips on the side of her head. He can’t help but inhale the scent of her damp hair, that of which smells like a mix of vanilla and lavender, and he smiles, pulling her closer to him as he rubs his hand on her small back.

“My baby smells good,” he says, pressing a kiss on her cheek, and at the tip of her small nose, as the toddler giggles, and Steve hums as he rubs his nose her smooth cheek. He looks up to find Natasha by the door, her eyes flickering over to the shelf, then back at him, and a glint of  _ something _ passing in her eyes—something melancholic, distant, doleful for a lost past—one he notices quickly, but decides that maybe  _ now _ is not the time to discuss nor feel such thing. “Guess  _ somebody’s _ ready to go to bed, right, Nat?” he asks.

It takes her a moment. She blinks, but later on the corner of her mouth quirks up as she raises an eyebrow, and Sarah starts whining and groaning, shaking her head as she puts both of her hands on the side of Steve’s face and Natasha giggles. “I guess so. I mean, she’s all washed and dressed up for bed.” she says, walking over to both him and Sarah as the toddler groans and pouts as she looks at both of her parents.

“Mommy, Little Mermaid,” Sarah says softly, and she looks over at Steve, her pout deepening and her eyes widening as she looks at her father almost pleadingly. “Daddy, Little Mermaid.” she whines softly, and both her parents chuckle, as Natasha rubs her back, leaning up to press a soft kiss on the girl’s cheek.

“What do you say, Steve? Should we let our little girl stay past her bedtime to watch Little Mermaid?” she asks, raising an eyebrow and smirking teasingly as she looks at Steve.  _ Our little girl, _ she said, and the thought of it—the sound of Natasha calling Sarah  _ their _ little girl is enough to make Steve’s heart leap and flutter, the corners of his mouth tugging up in a huge smile as he looks at their daughter in his arms. Sarah looks back at him as she whimpers softly. She does that puppy-eyes thing again, the one he’s so familiar with because of how much it resembles Natasha’s own puppy-eyes look, but he figures  _ this _ particular look by his daughter has a much more different pull, and he begins to wonder  _ how _ can he ever say  _ no _ to her should there be a need to do so in the future.

But that’s the thing, wasn’t it? This is a  _ game, _ and as he looks at the playful glint in Natasha’s eyes, accompanied by her signature teasing smirk, he knows that she finds amusement in watching him melt to bend to their daughter’s requests. It’s probably because she melts on the other end of it too, and she’s simply amused at the fact that  _ she’s _ not the only one that’s wrapped around Sarah’s finger, and that  _ he _ is the “weaker” one between the two parents, apparently, because  _ how _ can he say no to those big bright pleading eyes and adorable pout?

Not him, apparently.  _ Not _ him.

Steve sighs exaggeratedly, and he does his best to resist the smirk forming on his mouth as Sarah perks, hopeful at her father’s response. “I mean, we  _ did _ promise a movie after dinner, didn’t we?” he asks softly, and Natasha’s smirk widens, transforming into an amused smile as her eyes sparkle, and Steve’s eyes shift to Sarah as he smiles. “I guess we can delay bedtime a little bit, right?”

Natasha laughs softly, and Sarah looks at her mother hopefully, her mouth turning into a hopeful smile as she looks at her mother, and Natasha makes a small nod, leaning to rub her nose against Sarah’s as the toddler giggles. “I suppose we can just for tonight.” she says teasingly, raising an eyebrow at Steve as he chuckles softly.

“Movie with Mommy and Daddy!” Sarah cheers, and Natasha presses a quick kiss on Sarah’s cheek before she turns to turn the television on and grab the remote. Steve moves to the couch, sitting on the far end beside the armrest as he places Sarah on his lap. The toddler adjusts herself, sitting back comfortably as she rests her back on Steve’s chest, and he drapes an arm over the girl’s body, pulling her tight as he presses a soft kiss on top of her head.

Natasha moves to turn a few lights off in the living room, leaving only the corner yellow flush mounts on, and she moves to sit beside Steve, leaving a few inches between them so they aren’t too close, yet also not at all  _ too _ far from her baby who smiles widely and gratefully at her mother. Sarah extends her arms over to her, and she leans forward so Sarah can embrace her, and Natasha chuckles as she presses a kiss on her daughter’s hair as she pulls away slightly to sit back in her seat. When the movie starts, Natasha looks up at Steve and raises an amused eyebrow at him as he chuckles quietly and shakes his head.

“I don’t know how you do it, Nat,” he says quietly, only enough for her to hear while their daughter watches the movie she’d seen  _ hundreds _ of times, attentively. “I don’t think I can ever see myself saying no to her  _ ever _ in her lifetime.”

Natasha chuckles quietly, and he knows that if they were in a  _ normal _ setting, where it’s the two of them alone without a toddler attentively watching Little Mermaid with them, she would’ve just laughed so loudly until she snorted. “Exactly how I predicted.  _ You, _ Steve Rogers, have your hands tied down by a  _ two- _ year-old.” she teases quietly, and Steve snickers and shakes his head.

“Come on, she’s not just  _ any _ two-year-old,” he responds with a smirk, and Natasha laughs quietly as she shakes her head fondly. “Don’t admit  _ you’re _ not wrapped around her finger too.”

“It’s a game I’ve long lost given up on figuring out how to win, Steve,” she responds with a sly wink, one that sends a warm pool down in the pit of his stomach. “I think you should too.” Steve chuckles lightly.

“Now you know how  _ I _ feel whenever you do the whole puppy-eyes thing with me before.” Steve says, and Natasha opens her mouth to protest, the corners of her mouth quirking upward into a huge smile as her eyes sparkle in amusement. She begins to say something, but it’s cut off by their daughter who lifts her head to look at both of her parents.

“Mommy, Daddy, movie!” she whines, pouting, and both parents chuckle, muttering an apology at the toddler as they both press kisses on her head and cheeks, until she is coaxed enough to turn her attention back to the movie. Natasha smirks at Steve, as if telling him that they are not at all  _ done _ yet with this conversation, as Steve smiles, turning his attention back to the television screen as he presses a soft kiss on Sarah who hums and smiles up at her father.

They proceed to watch the whole movie with their daughter, laughing and singing along to the songs. Sarah had memorized nearly  _ all _ of the songs, from the shortest number as “Daughters of Triton”, to the classic “Part of Your World” (which both Natasha and Sarah had sung together, while he watched and listened with a fond smile and a wildly fluttering heart), to the probably-too-complicated-for-a-toddler classic “Under the Sea” (which  _ he _ and Sarah sang together, while Natasha just laughed on the side at how out-of-tune Steve is, though Sarah didn’t seem to care as she just sang and danced on her father’s lap) and of course, to the classic villain song “Poor Unfortunate Souls”.

By the “Kiss the Girl” song number, Steve looks down at his chest and finds Sarah’s eyes already drooping heavily, letting out a small yawn as she continues to fight to keep her eyes open. He looks over at Natasha whose eyes are trained on the TV screen, and he gives her a slight nudge on her elbow resting on the backrest of the couch. She looks up at him questioningly, and he gestures at the little girl already lost to the fight of sleepiness as Natasha chuckles softly. She inches herself closer to both of them, and she rests a hand on Sarah’s stomach, rubbing it gently as she leans down to press her lips on the side of her head, smiling and humming at how the toddler orients herself towards her mother. They watch as her eyebrows furrow slightly, burying her head further in Steve’s chest, her forehead touching Natasha’s as she hums and smiles, pressing a soft kiss on the tip of her nose.

“Out like a light,” Natasha says softly, brushing Sarah’s hair gently, as Steve smiles, reaching for the remote beside Natasha, careful not to move too much to disturb the girl’s sleep. He lowers the volume, and he watches as Natasha just stares at their little girl on his chest, as if marveled and amazed, mesmerized by the peace and beauty on her face. “Told you she wasn’t gonna make it through the whole movie.” she adds, and Steve chuckles softly, resting a hand on the toddler’s back and rubbing it gently and soothingly.

“She made it through half of it, which is impressive in itself considering it’s past her bedtime,” he responds softly, and Natasha hums, smiling widely as she presses another soft kiss on Sarah’s forehead, her hand still gently brushing the toddler’s head. “Should we put her to bed?” he asks, almost tentatively, as if asking permission if  _ he _ can also put her to bed, if  _ he _ can carry their daughter so they can both tuck her to bed.

Natasha nods, not taking her eyes off of Sarah. “Yeah,” she replies softly, and it takes her a few more moments before she lifts her eyes to look at Steve. She gives him a gentle smile. “Come on, let’s put her to bed.” she says, getting up from the couch as Steve slowly adjusts the girl in his arms, resting her head on his shoulder as he gets up, careful not to disturb the sleeping toddler.

He follows Natasha to  _ her _ room, where she and Sarah had emerged from earlier after dinner. He knows it to be her room, of course, evidenced by the bookshelves lined with  _ more _ medical books beside a dresser. There’s a desk by the window, that of which is piled with paper and what seemed to be bound records with multiple sticky notes on top of it. The room is lit by a bedroom lamp beside a king-sized bed, where Steve stands beside so he can gently lay Sarah on it. Natasha stands beside him, pulling up the covers up to Sarah’s chin as she sits down on the edge of the bed, leaning forward to press a soft kiss on her forehead.

Steve sits as well, and he brushes Sarah’s hair gently, smiling at how peaceful their little girl looks in her sleep, a small smile present on her mouth as if she’s dreaming something pleasant. He sure hopes that she is, though, and he leans down to press a kiss on her forehead, then on the tip of her small nose.

Natasha watches all of this, her mouth tugging upwards to a small smile as she watches Steve press kisses on their daughter’s face, brushing her hair gently as he doesn’t tear his eyes off of her. She watches at how natural it comes off to him—being a father, and being able to tuck in their little girl to bed like how fathers usually do. Her heart aches slightly, being tugged at the memory of how she had caught him looking through the photos on her shelf earlier tonight, and the thoughts that might have been running in his head as he looked at it—at all the things he had missed in his absence, all the things he could’ve been there for but wasn’t, and how maybe  _ this _ time, he could be there for the rest of it, for the rest of Sarah’s life, and probably the rest of hers.

“She looks so peaceful,” Steve whispers, snapping away from her own thoughts to meet his eyes, and she smiles gently when she sees his bright blue eyes sparkling—with what she recognizes to be a mixture of love, adoration and awe, his mouth turned into a soft smile as he looks at Natasha, then back at Sarah. “Even in her sleep, she just looks so beautiful and adorable.” he adds softly, and Natasha hums.

“She always has been,” she whispers softly, smiling as she leans to press a kiss on Sarah’s forehead, and she smiles widely. “Good night, little bug. Mommy and Daddy love you.” she whispers, and Steve smiles, brushing away some of the hair on Sarah’s forehead.

“Mommy and Daddy love you.” he repeats softly, pressing a final kiss on her forehead before he gets up from the bed as Natasha follows suit. She dims the lamp beside the bed, until only a soft glow of a yellow light illuminates the room. He follows her out to the living room, and waits until she closes the door gently behind her before she looks up at him and gives him a small smile, while he gives her a gentle smile.

“D’you want anything? A drink, maybe?” she asks softly. Because they were gonna talk, and more so they were gonna have  _ the _ talk, and what more appropriate time than now, right? Steve takes a deep breath, huffing out a small chuckle as he shakes his head.

“I’ll be driving home,” he tells her softly, lifting a shoulder to a small shrug. “I’ll have some water, if it’s anything.”

Natasha hums and smiles as she nods. “Come on.  _ I _ could use a drink or two.” she says, and Steve laughs softly and nods, following Natasha to the dining room. He takes a seat on one of the chairs by the counter, while she grabs a wine bottle from the cabinet, putting it on the counter as she takes one glass and rests it beside the bottle. He clasps both of his hands and rests it on the counter, waiting for Natasha to return with a glass of water in her hand, sliding it over to Steve as she sits across him, and Steve nods in thanks as he takes a sip from the glass of water.

They sit in silence for a while, with Natasha sipping from her glass of wine, and Steve sipping from his glass of water, both of them contemplating and thinking of what to say first. They think of _ how _ they could open the conversation—the one about  _ them, _ what’s next for them, and what  _ they _ should do when neither of them really knows  _ what _ they should do. They know they should grab the second chance, as what Sharon said and what Gabby’s death had taught them, to grow some balls and grab the second chance to start over again but  _ how? _ How exactly does one start over again from scratch, when here they are,  _ still _ trying to swim away from the hurt and all the emotions between them?

“Sarah sleeps on your bed every night?” Steve asks softly, looking up to meet Natasha’s eyes. He winches slightly and inwardly, because it’s honestly an awkward beginning to what could be a  _ big _ conversation for both of them. But he doesn’t know where to start, and he’s also genuinely curious about it, so he doesn’t take it back.

Natasha nods. “I mean, she has her own room beside mine,” she says, gesturing over at the closed room beside her bedroom. “Her things are still there—clothes, toys, storybooks apart from the ones in the living room. She has a bed there and all but...she prefers to sleep on the bed beside me.” She pauses, the corner of her mouth quirking up slightly to a smirk as she ducks her head. “Not as much as  _ she _ did at first than I did, but now it’s just a habit hard to break.” she adds.

Steve nods, letting out a small smile. Natasha’s smile fades slightly as she releases a breath, leaning back in her seat as she plays with the stem of her glass. She looks away from him and takes a deep breath. “It started when she got sick. This whole...not sleeping in her bedroom thing,” she starts quietly. “It was more of me refusing to leave her side, refusing to let her out of my sight and leave her alone. And it was also convenient whenever she would cry when she couldn’t breathe, so…” she trails off, and shakes her head slightly, looking back at Steve with glassy eyes as she lets out a small sad smile. “It’s a habit that got stuck.” she says.

Steve feels a faint pang in his chest, of the mention of Sarah getting sick, and of the dark days Natasha had gone through taking care of a sick toddler alone. He ducks his head and swallows down his throat as he takes a shaky breath. “You never, uh...you never told me the full of it,” he says quietly, looking back up to meet Natasha’s eyes. “The full story. How did...how did you find out, what happened, what…”  _ What led to Natasha finally being able to point out what’s wrong. _

Natasha nods, and she takes a shaky breath as she swallows down her throat. He imagines it’s difficult for her, of course, to recount the  _ entire _ story of finding out her little girl was sick, that there had been something wrong in her heart she didn’t know about, and he almost wants to take the question back so she could be spared of having to relieve the whole pain of remembering all of it. But before he can even say anything, she starts, “She was fifteen months old that time...you know that already,” she says, and Steve nods. Natasha sighs and shakes her head. “She’s always been a healthy baby, always happy and energetic, a bright ball of sunshine. So when she started, uh…” she trails off and shakes her head. “When she started exhibiting neuro symptoms—unresponsiveness whenever I would call her, as if she’s like in a trance whenever I would see her. She had episodes of hypothermia, and...well, she’s not at all a fan of the cold, but...some nights are bad when she would just  _ shiver _ so bad and she’s just  _ really _ cold, most especially her hands and feet which would turn into a bluish color. And then, well...seizures. It’s the one that got me so I brought her in.”

Steve nods, remembering the story she had told him  _ way _ before, after their first surgery with Gabby and how much the kid had reminded her of Sarah, prompting her to tell him about  _ her, _ yet indirectly so without saying her name. “I took over, even if it’s ethically not allowed, and Banner and the others kept on insisting that I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t help it. You can’t just stand there on the side when your baby’s suffering, especially when you know what you’re supposed to do. When you think you know what you’re doing, so I did what I thought was...was right,” she continues, and Steve nods in understanding. “We ordered for CT scans, see if there’s anything in the brain that’s causing the seizures and the unresponsiveness, the fainting and all that. But then she had another seizure and...I told them to open her up quickly.” She pauses, and looks away, crossing her arms over her chest as she sighs. “And they did, but they found nothing.  _ Of course, _ they found nothing, because the problem wasn’t with her brain.”

It was with her heart.

Natasha swallows down her throat and shakes her head. “We found that out soon after, when during post-op, she would start crying because she couldn’t breathe, that she felt cold even if it wasn’t and she was shivering...to the point that even I couldn’t figure out whether she’s having a seizure or if she was just  _ really _ cold,” she says quietly. “We wouldn’t sleep in the evenings, because those were always the most difficult times of the day. She couldn’t breathe, and I would just hold her, and...and I kept on thinking that if I  _ could, _ if I  _ could _ do it I would give the air I’m able to breathe and just shove it in her lungs so she could breathe even for just a moment. So the pain in her chest could be relieved so she would stop crying, but I  _ couldn’t.” _ She looks back at Steve as tears fill her eyes, and Steve feels a pang in his chest when he sees this. “And she didn’t eat much, either, which only made her weaker—with the lack of sleep, post-op recovery and no food, I…” she trails off and ducks her head. “I really thought I was gonna lose her, Steve.” she whispers. “I  _ really _ thought she was gonna die.”

Which was probably why Gabby’s death had affected her so much, as well as seeing Mandy mourn for her little girl, because she  _ had _ been close to experiencing it all, had been in that position where she thought she would become a mother to a dead child.

She sniffles and shakes her head as she lifts it to meet Steve’s eyes. “We found out soon after it was TOF, but that was when I decided to reach out to Danvers, when Bucky had told me to consult a pediatric cardio,” she continues with a small nod. “I couldn’t...I couldn’t reach out to  _ just _ anyone, so I called in Carol, who I found out worked in Hopkins. She came by here first to check, and she confirmed it had been TOF, and since she wanted to constantly monitor her while operating on her in a place she’s comfortable with, we had her transferred to Hopkins.” Natasha sighs. “And the rest is...the rest is it.”

There’s not much she left out in the story, and though it seemed short, it was honestly all that there is. This  _ is, _ after all, Sarah’s story, not hers, because if it were  _ her, _ it would’ve been longer, and it would’ve stretched to even  _ months _ after Sarah had completely recovered with all the guilt and despair she had felt that had still stayed with her even as they went back home. It would’ve included Natasha’s decision to shift specialization, abandon her fellowship for another because she couldn’t handle seeing another kid on the table in front of her. It would’ve included Natasha’s own sleepless nights, even after Sarah had gotten better, whenever the memory of all of it would cross her mind and she would pull herself closer to her daughter just so she can feel her small chest rising and falling against hers, just so she can hear her breathe and snore, just so she can be assured that she’s fine.

But most of all, if it were  _ her _ story, it would’ve included more on how she was putting all of this on  _ him. _

“You said she’d been feeling cold? Especially her hands and feet, turning into a bluish color?” he asks softly, and she nods, and he gives her a small and sad smile. “The seizures and neuro symptoms resulted in the lack of oxygen. It was automatically a heart problem...not exactly a brain one.” he says gently, hoping not to offend, and hoping to speak as a colleague rather than a father and an ex-lover. He is not at all blaming her,  _ no, _ not even to show off how much he knew, or how much it could’ve been easier for him to see it all if he were there, and…

She gives him a sad smile, tilting her head to the side as a wave of dread washes over him.  _ That _ was the thing there, wasn’t it?  _ It could’ve been easier for him...for all of them, if he were there. If he had been there, but he wasn’t. _

Natasha’s bottom lip quivers, and she looks away when she sees Steve closing his eyes and ducking his head, and she figures that perhaps he had realized it—how most of the difficult part of what happened to them had been eliminated if  _ he _ had been there. Because even if Natasha had trained under him for cardio, it would still take experience—firsthand experience, one she lacks compared to him—to know and easily pinpoint how a rare congenital heart disease like the TOF manifests in real life.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers, and Natasha looks back at him as she watches Steve bury his hands in his face, shaking his head as he lifts it again to meet Natasha’s eyes. Her chest constricts at seeing his eyes glassy and filled with tears, how guilty and shameful he looks, how  _ pained _ he looks at the thought of how  _ he _ could’ve changed what they had gone through if he had only stayed. “I’m sorry, Nat, I’m…” he trails off, and shakes his head. “I’m  _ so  _ sorry.”

Even if it wouldn’t do anything much now, really. Even if all the things that happened then had passed, and here they are now, with their healthy daughter sleeping soundly in the other room. But he says it, still, because he still  _ feels _ it should be said, still feels that it’s the right thing to say.

“I know,” she whispers with a small nod, tears forming and filling her eyes as she looks down at her lap. “I know, Steve.”

Steve shakes his head and purses his lips, swallowing down his throat as his eyes flicker over to the shelf in the corner of the living room—of the photos of the moments he missed, and of the moments reminding him of his biggest mistake he committed. He releases a shaky breath. “I was, uh...I was looking at the photos on the shelf,” he says quietly, looking back to meet Natasha’s eyes. “Of a little Sarah...when she was a baby, of the both of you, and...and of  _ you, _ when you were pregnant with her.” The corners of his mouth quirk downwards as he shakes his head and swallows down the bile rising in his throat. “I’ve missed  _ so _ much, Nat. I...I’ve missed so much with her.”  _ From her birth, to all the firsts. Her life since she had been born up until merely a few months ago. _ Natasha clenches her jaw and nods, swallowing down her throat as she looks down. “And I’ve missed so much with  _ you.” _

Natasha looks back up at him, her mouth parted slightly, as if in surprise, her eyes wide and glassy as she looks back at him, and he shakes his head. “I didn’t know, I…” He sighs shakily and purses his lips, not tearing his eyes away from Natasha. “If I’d known better, I…” He shakes his head and swallows down his throat. “I wish I’d known better.”

Natasha’s chin quivers, and she licks her bottom lip, her eyebrows furrowing together as she purses her lips and sighs. “You know, after you left, I’d still hoped you would come back,” she whispers, looking back at him and giving him a small sad smile as her bottom lip trembled. “Every time I would go to work, I’d...I’d look at the doors of the lounge and just wish you would...you would just enter there, and tell me that you’re back, and that you’re staying.” She shakes her head and sighs shakily. “Even during Sarah’s birth, in the delivery room...I remember just looking at the door...just  _ looking _ at it, and I’d dream that you would just burst inside the room, and you would tell me how sorry you were, and I would say...I would say it’s okay, ‘cause we were gonna have a baby and you would hold my hand, and kiss me when she was born.”

A tear slips from Steve’s eyes as Natasha looks away from him, pursing her lips and sniffling as she releases a slow breath. “I never found myself...hating you for leaving,” she tells him quietly, shaking her head. “And I should, because what you did had hurt me, and the heartbreak I went through after you left was painful. And it’s what other people say about me too, whenever I would come to the hospital with Sarah especially after she was born, but I never did.” She pauses. “I tried, but I didn’t...which was why she has your name, and why she has your mother’s name, because I knew it’s what you would want to name her, and I was only ever thinking about what  _ you _ would want our baby’s name to be.” She looks down at her lap and shakes her head. “I never thought about anything else, I...never thought I  _ should _ hate you when you’ve given me the world...and when you’ve given me  _ my _ entire universe. I never could at that time.” she says quietly.

“But then Sarah got sick...and  _ you _ not being there, it was…” she trails off and shakes her head as a tear slips from her eyes, her vision blurred by the tears as Steve looks up at her. “It was painful, Steve...both for her and me, and...and I just  _ can’t _ help but think of the millions of what-if’s. What if you hadn’t left, and  _ you _ would’ve treated her right? What if you never left, and you saw what had been wrong right away?” She scrunches her face as her voice cracks, and she looks down and she sniffles. “And what if you never left, then maybe I wouldn’t have suffered alone through all of it?”

Steve gives a small nod, closing his eyes as he sighs shakily and lowers his head, feeling his heart ache wildly, his chest constricting so painfully as he listens to her soft sniffles, of her million what-ifs, of the hurt manifested by the words she’s finally telling him. She lets out a shaky breath as he looks back up at her, to meet her face, with glassy eyes and wet cheeks, her bottom lip trembling as she shakes her head. “And I started hating you—despite still  _ loving _ you from afar—because of it,” she whispers. “It’s what I meant when I said that it  _ hurt _ when you left.”

She doesn’t really know if she would hate him as much as she had for the last year if Sarah hadn’t been sick. She can’t say for sure if she would still be as apprehensive as she is now in getting back with him if Sarah hadn’t been sick. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? There’s no use in thinking of these what-ifs, no use into contemplating if things had been different if she had been sick or not, if Steve had left or not, it all happened—Steve had left, and Sarah had gotten sick, and she suffered alone through all of it. There’s no use in having to change all of those, no use in keeping pent-up hatred and emotions, especially not now when she  _ had _ indeed been given a second chance, when  _ he _ had come back and had been given a second chance.

What should she do with it? What could  _ he _ do with it? It’s all up to them, and it’s all up to them  _ now. _

“If I could, I would go back,” Steve tells her quietly, as if reading her thoughts, and Natasha looks at him and sighs. “I would, in a heartbeat. I’d burst through that delivery room door and hold your hand. I’d enter that lounge and beg for your forgiveness.” He pauses, and he lets out a sigh. “I would’ve tried harder that night, and  _ never _ left at all.” Natasha bites her bottom lip and gives him a small nod as she looks down at her hands. “I would if I could, Nat, I would’ve changed  _ everything _ that I did wrong to make it right, but I can’t. Not anymore. And...and I’m a little late, but the least I can do now is to make things better, prove to you I can be better for you and Sarah. If you would let me.” He purses her lips and shakes his head.  _ “Please _ let me.” he whispers.

Natasha looks intently as his eyes, and she sees sincerity in it, sincerity mixed with guilt, regret, hurt and a  _ lot _ of pain. She sees vulnerability, and underneath it all, she sees love and perseverance. She sees the man whom she had once loved, and the man she  _ still _ loves. She sees the man Sarah adores as a father, and the man whom she can see, one day, she might spend the rest of her life with. She sees the Steve Rogers she had fallen in love with—the kind man with a gentle and humble heart, the man who had taken care of her for years in their relationship, and the man she had once thought she could spend her forever with.

That forever was cut short, but she’s not one to put  _ all _ the mistakes of their relationship on him alone. So she slides her hand on top of the counter, palm facing up as she looks at him, giving him a small smile, as he takes her hand. His hand feels cold in hers, yet his big hand still perfectly fits in hers, and for a moment she allows herself to feel a bit of nostalgia at watching their joint hands together on the counter. She brushes her thumb gently on his knuckles, and he looks up at her as she smiles slightly wider.

“We’ve made some mistakes,” she whispers softly, and she feels his hand squeeze hers gently, and she lets out a small chuckle. “Both of us made a lot of mistakes.”

Steve looks at Natasha, and tilting his head to the side, he gives her a small smile and shakes his head. “There’s one thing we made right,” he says softly, and Natasha furrows her eyebrows slightly in question, as Steve’s smile widens. “And she’s sleeping in the other room.”

_ Sarah. _ If there’s one good thing they’ve made during their time together, it’s their little Sarah.

Natasha’s smile widens and she lets out a soft laugh, giving Steve’s hand a light squeeze. “I think Sarah can help both of us heal from this.” she says softly, and Steve hums and nods, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

“Yeah,” he says. “I mean, if not for the number of times she asks me to give you a kiss on the cheek, or the number of times she asks you to hug me until she says stop, I don’t know what else can get us back together.”

Natasha laughs softly and nods, making Steve’s smile widen as he chuckles softly. He takes a deep breath, leaning forward to rest his other hand on top of hers as he looks at her eyes. “I know we’re not who we used to be,” he says softly, his thumb brushing the back of her hand gently and soothingly. “And we can never be the people...the  _ couple _ we used to be before, but we’re gonna get there, and we’re gonna be better. I know it,” He pauses and nods, as Natasha sighs and nods. “We’re gonna be better.  _ I’m _ gonna be better.” he adds softly.

Natasha swallows down her throat and nods. “Me too,” she says softly. “I think we’re gonna be fine, Steve.”

Steve nods, giving Natasha a reassuring smile as she returns it so. There’s something there, he supposes, something about tonight that could change them, that  _ had _ changed them. For once, Steve begins to think that they really  _ were _ going to be fine, if not for the kiss on the cheek she had given him when he had announced his departure, and if not for the long embrace they shared before he walks back to the hall of her floor and down to his car. He thinks they were going to be okay, most especially in the long run, if not for the flutter in his heart upon seeing Natasha smile brightly the following morning while Sarah runs to him, and if not for Natasha allowing Steve to press a kiss on her temple after giving her cup of morning coffee. He thinks that they’re doing this right, that this whole second chance and healing process they’re both getting into, are all  _ right, _ and someday, they really  _ were _ going to be better than how they had been before.

Steve snaps out of his thoughts that afternoon, though, when he had been sitting by tables in the lounge with his laptop open, when he hears the door open and sees Sharon enter the lounge. She raises an eyebrow and closes the door gently behind her. “No surgeries this afternoon?” she asks him, and he shakes his head.

“Slow day,” he responds, and Sharon hums, tucking her hands in the pockets of her coats as she takes the seat across from him, leaning back and releasing a breath as she closes her eyes. “You got off of one?” he asks, and she nods, opening her eyes to look at him.

“Back-to-back since this morning,” she responds, and Steve hums, the corner of his mouth quirking upward slightly. “I meant to go to the cafeteria to grab some lunch, but I think I need two minutes of time-off before I even start  _ moving.” _

Steve chuckles quietly and shakes his head. “I don’t think once moves  _ that _ much when lining up for food in the cafeteria line.” he says, and Sharon scoffs playfully and rolls her eyes.

“You  _ stand _ in line, Steve.  _ That _ in itself is already  _ tiring _ when you come from two intense back-to-back surgeries.” she says, and Steve hums, chuckling quietly as he shakes his head.

A comfortable silence settles between them, and Steve looks away from Sharon for a moment, who has closed her eyes again, as if to rest, thinking if he should say something to her. He  _ should, _ right? He should say something? Because he hadn’t exactly apologized to her for what he did yet, for the pain he’d caused  _ her _ too, apart from that of Natasha, and it has been  _ months _ since their last confrontation. Besides, she had helped him and Natasha realize things about the second chance they’re given, to cease the moment of happiness given to them, so that means the  _ thing _ between them before...it doesn’t hurt as much as it used to?

Steve clears his throat, and Sharon opens her eyes to look at him. “Sharon...I...about the last—” he starts to say, but he’s cut off with a shake of Sharon’s head.

“Nope, stop right there, Rogers,” she says, and Steve furrows his eyebrows slightly in confusion and surprise, his heart hammering against his chest loudly as Sharon sighs. “Look, I’ve just spoken with Nat a little while ago before getting here, okay? She and I have said our pieces, and we’ve agreed to be friends again, because it’s what we’ve always been  _ way _ before, and it’s what we’re doing again now.” She pauses. “When I told her that long-ass monologue of how I’m  _ fine _ now, and that I’m happy for the both of you when I asked her how  _ you _ both were doing, and she told me you were figuring things out together, I meant it. And I’m meant to say the same to you. I’m okay, Steve,  _ we’re _ okay.”

Steve sighs and shakes his head. “But I’m still sorry,” he says quietly, and Sharon sighs as she nods. “I’m  _ really _ sorry, and if there’s anything,  _ anything _ I can do to make it up for it...I really would.”

Sharon quirks her mouth to the side as she shrugs. “You make Nat happy, Steve. I think the least you can do is really just  _ keep _ that,” she tells him softly. “If you wanna make it up to me, make it up to  _ her. _ And I think that part is going well, isn’t it?”

Steve can’t help but feel the corner of his mouth quirk upwards. “She said that?” he asks, and Sharon lets out a small chuckle as she shakes her head.

“Hope you figure  _ that _ one out yourself, Rogers,” Sharon responds with a raised eyebrow as Steve chuckles. “When you guys were sorting it out...I suppose it was last night.” Steve nods, and Sharon tilts her head to the side in question. “Did she break your heart?”

Steve takes a moment, and he blinks, before he lets out a sigh. “A little.” he responds, because it wasn’t much as  _ she _ broke his heart but rather  _ him _ breaking his own, when she just happened to lay out all the things he had done, all the things he had missed and regretted, which was how his heart had broken last night.

Sharon nods, the corner of her mouth quirking slightly. “Good,” she says softly and she shrugs. “It needed a little breaking.”

Steve lets out a small chuckle as he nods, and Sharon gives him a small smile and a nod before she gets up from her seat. “If it means anything too, I’ve met the little girl,” she says, looking back at Steve who raises his eyebrows as he looks at Sharon. “She’s a beautiful kid, spitting image of Nat. And she’s quick to call me Auntie Sharon now too.” She pauses, and raises an eyebrow at Steve. “Which means if you happen to break  _ either _ of their hearts again, you’re gonna hear an earful from me too.” she adds.

Steve lets out a small smile at that, and he nods. “I won’t break their hearts.” he tells her, and she hums.

“You better not.” she says, smirking as she turns and leaves the lounge again, leaving the door open behind her as Steve chuckles and shakes his head, and he faces his laptop again, his eyes flickering back to the medical journal he’s reading, when the door to the lounge once again closes, and he looks up to find Natasha by the door as he lets out a smile upon seeing her.

“Hey,” he greets softly, and Natasha looks up at him, and Steve’s smile slowly fades, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he slowly gets up from his seat. He notices her glassy eyes and her quivering chin, the way her fingers fumble with each other as she takes a step closer to him when he stops in front of her. He looks into her eyes, those that refuse to look back at him, and he rests both hands on her shoulders, giving it a light squeeze as she looks up at him, and he frowns slightly and worriedly. “What’s wrong?” he asks softly, rubbing her arms gently. “Are you okay?”

Of course, she’s not. She doesn’t  _ look _ okay. She opens her mouth to say something, but her bottom lip quivers and nothing comes out but a shaky breath. She shakes her head and closes her eyes, and she swallows down her throat. “I saw Mandy,” she says quietly, and Steve sighs, shaking his head slightly as he wraps one arm around her waist to pull her close, his other hand brushing some of her hair away from her face. Natasha lowers her head, her fingers fumbling with the hem of Steve’s coat. “She, uh…” she trails off and shakes her head. “She came here to claim Gabby’s...Gabby’s body, and…” She sighs shakily and looks up at Steve, her eyes wide and glassy, filled with tears threatening to fall that Steve instinctively tightens his hold around her. “I just…Steve, I…” she trails off as a tear slips from her eyes, one that Steve brushes with his thumb, but she shakes her head and scrunches her face, and she buries her face in Steve’s chest as he holds her.

Steve presses his lips on her hair, his one hand brushing her hair soothingly as he feels her arms wrap around his torso as if to pull him even closer to her. She cries silently, feeling his shirt dampen with her tears but not paying much attention to it. He closes his eyes and brushes his fingers through her hair, and he hears her sigh shakily, her shoulders trembling as she sniffles, crying against his chest as he shushes her softly, pressing a soft kiss on her head as he pulls her even closer to him.

They stay like that for a while, the lounge empty apart from them in the middle, with Steve comforting Natasha. She eventually lifts her head from his chest, not letting go of her hold on him as he lifts her hands to brush his thumbs on her wet cheeks, and the tears under her eyes. She shakes her head and releases a slow breath. “I know it’s...I shouldn’t...it’s  _ stupid _ for me to feel this way,” she says quietly, letting out a quiet chuckle as she shakes her head, and more tears fall from her eyes. “Especially since Sarah is fine, and...and she’s upstairs and she’s healthy, and…” she trails off and shakes her head. “It’s still unfair. She didn’t...she didn’t deserve to go so early.” she says, her voice barely above a whisper as her voice cracks.

“I know,” Steve whispers, nodding as he takes a shaky breath, his one hand resting on the small of her back as his other hand stays on her face, his thumb brushing her cheek gently while she closes her eyes and leans towards his touch. “I know, Nat.” He leans to press a kiss on her forehead and she sighs, tightening her hold around him.

And it feels good, she thinks, having Steve with her to do all these things to comfort her, to allow herself to  _ be _ comforted by him in all these things he’s doing. It feels good, she thinks, for once, to not feel alone whenever she gets overwhelmed with things and worries related to Sarah, knowing that perhaps he might also feel the same way too, as a parent to their little girl. Knowing that  _ he _ understands, and knowing that she doesn’t need to say much for him to  _ know, _ because he  _ does _ know, and he  _ does _ understand, and he  _ does _ feel the same way.

It feels good to  _ have _ him, she supposes. It feels good —this second chance, the one they had freshly grabbed and ceased. It feels good to have him back with her again.

“Hey, I know,” Steve says softly, and Natasha sniffles as she lifts her eyes to look at him, where she sees his eyes sparkling as he smiles gently at her. “D’you have any surgeries left?” he asks, and she shakes her head.

“Just some monitoring,” she responds. “Maybe finish some records too.”

Steve smiles, his fingers brushing through her hair as he nods. “Ample Hills is still open, right?” he asks softly, and Natasha furrows her eyebrows in confusion, but she later raises it in both surprise and realization, the corners of her mouth quirking upwards slightly as she tilts her head to the side and he chuckles. “I heard that place has a  _ mean _ ice cream that makes gloomy days brighter.” he says, and she lets out a soft chuckle.

“Steve, I’m not  _ that _ gloomy,” she says, sniffling as she wipes her own eyes with the back of her hand, letting out a soft chuckle. “‘M just a little emotional, ‘s all.” she adds softly, and Steve raises an eyebrow.

“A  _ little?” _ Steve asks, and Natasha laughs, smacking his chest lightly as she shakes her head, and Steve grins. “Come on. Can’t make time for a  _ little  _ L’chaim?”

Natasha laughs softly and shakes her head. Ample Hills had been one of their favorite ice cream stores before, and practically because they  _ really _ had no choice when they would crave for ice cream since it’s the only ice cream shop near the hospital. He  _ knows _ her favorite flavor to be L’chaim, their ice cream flavor of dirty chai base with coffee, tea and spices from Porto Rico coffee company and house-made chocolate covered macaroons. He  _ knows _ she couldn’t resist such an offer, especially since they had made it their thing before, that ice creams from Ample Hills would “make gloomy days a little brighter”, as they would say.

Besides, she  _ is _ craving ice cream a little.

So she looks up at him and smirks. “Is it  _ your _ turn to pay for ice cream this time?” she asks teasingly, and Steve hums, smiling widely as he laughs and raises an eyebrow.

“Since when was it  _ your _ turn to pay for ice cream?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at her as she hums and scrunches her nose and tightens her hold around him. He smiles widely, feeling his heart flutter at how she clings tightly to him, and how she allows him to hold her like this—like how they  _ used _ to, like how they were always  _ meant _ to.

“That sounds fair. I never pay for ice cream,” she says with a wide smile, one that mirrors Sarah’s, especially when his little girl asks  _ him _ for something and she does it so sheepishly. “Just us?” she asks softly, and Steve hums, brushing her hair gently as he nods, smiling widely.

“Just us,” he repeats softly, and Natasha smiles. “‘Sides, I kinda miss the place, and what better way to revisit the one favorite place I miss with my favorite girl, hm?” he asks, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smirk.

Natasha blushes, but she nonetheless raises an eyebrow as she pulls away from him slightly. “Steven Rogers, are you flirting with me?” she asks, and Steve laughs as he shakes his head, ducking his head slightly as he looks at her.

“Am I too obvious?” he asks, and Natasha chuckles softly.

“A little too easy,” she teases, smirking as she pulls away her arms around him, sliding one hand to intertwine his fingers with hers. She smiles widely as she looks up at him, giving his hand a light squeeze. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like it.” she says in a low voice with a wink, one that  _ does _ something inside Steve that he can’t really quite explain, but he gives her hand a light squeeze, feeling his cheeks go warm as Natasha grins and Steve chuckles.

“Can’t believe I’m still  _ too _ easy.” Steve mutters, and Natasha laughs as they proceed out of the lounge and into the hall, holding each other’s hand as they go down to Ample Hills.

It’s a small place—Ample Hills, and even as it’s been years since Steve had stepped in, only a few had changed. They’ve repainted the walls, of course, changed the scaffolding of the couch booths and changed a few designs of their counter. They’ve added a few more flavors, those of which Steve doesn’t really  _ find _ too appealing as he decides to stick to the classics, all while Natasha teases him of how old he’s slowly becoming while she waits for their orders, his hand wrapped around her waist, pulling her close as she leans towards him, her head resting on his chest as she watches their orders coming into fruition.

It’s intimate, everything that they’re doing—from the long embraces, to the kisses and hugs and just holding each other,  _ all _ of it intimate for two people hadn’t really quite put a label on who they are apart from being “two people co-parenting their daughter, and who also happens to be in love with each other”. But it comes off too naturally, a force hard to resist especially since it’s there, and they had tried to resist it for so long but failed, so who are they to act on this natural force otherwise?

Besides, it’s not like they don’t like it. Or at least Natasha can’t say that she doesn’t like it, because she  _ does, _ and it’s almost as if, really, that she  _ loves _ it.

They settle on the booth in the far corner of the shop, and mid-way through eating her ice cream, Natasha lets out a groan as she scrunches her face and frowns worriedly as she looks at Steve, whose eyes widen slightly in alarm and in worry as he looks at her. “What?” he asks, and Natasha’s frown deepens. “What? What’s wrong?” he asks, his heart pounding loudly against his chest as Natasha sighs.

“I’m here eating ice cream...no,  _ we’re _ here eating ice cream and enjoying sweets when we literally left our baby in the hospital,” she says, frowning, as Steve can’t help but chuckle softly and Natasha’s frown deepens as she furrows her eyebrows at him. “I’m  _ serious, _ Steve, I feel bad about it, and so should  _ you! _ We left our baby up there while we’re here just eating ice cream.” She pouts at him. “It’s like we sneaked away from her.”

Steve laughs softly as he shakes his head. “We’re not sneaking away, Nat. I thought we’re here to make you  _ feel _ better, remember?” he asks softly with a gentle smile as Natasha quirks her lips to the side, her cheeks blushing as she looks down and starts to eat her ice cream again. “We can always come back with Sarah here anytime. I’ve a few flavors in mind I’d think she’ll love, and I think it’ll also be one of her favorite ice cream places.”

Natasha smiles, tilting her head slightly to the side. “You saying we’re gonna go back here anytime soon?” she asks raising an eyebrow and Steve nods, his smile widening.

“I’d want us to,” he answers softly. “You, me and Sarah this time—like a family date outside of the hospital. Just the three of us.”

“So then  _ you’ll _ be paying for our ice cream?” Natasha asks teasingly, if only to try and suppress the wild fluttering of her heart at the mention of a  _ family date _ for just the three of them. “You’ll never give me a chance to pay for ice cream, then.” she adds, and Steve chuckles softly as he shakes his head.

“And I’d want us to have dates too,” he continues softly, and Natasha looks up at him, her wide smile turning gentle as she watches his eyes sparkling as he looks at her gently. “Just you and me, the  _ two _ of us, outside of the hospital too.” he says, and Natasha’s smile widens slightly.

“Isn’t  _ this _ considered a date already?” she asks softly, but Steve hums and shakes his head.

“I’d want the dates to be...less rushed,” he responds softly, the corner of his mouth twitching upward to a smirk. “So I could get to know you better, and so I’d know how a man like me can win over a woman’s heart like yours.” Natasha blinks, getting momentarily caught, but she later recovers and smiles widely, letting out a soft laugh at his words—the  _ exact _ same words he had told her years before, before they even got together as a couple. “Well, how I could win your heart over  _ again _ in this case.”

_ So I could get to know you better, and so I’d know how a man like me can win over a woman’s heart like yours, _ he had once said, and Natasha’s heart skips a beat at the memory of it—a seemingly distant one, but now that it’s unfolding almost the same way as how it happened, suddenly, those years of slowly falling in love with each other don’t seem too far away of a memory anymore.

“Doctor Steven Rogers, are you trying to ask me out on  _ another _ date?” she asks, smirking, and her eyes sparkling as she tells him the  _ exact _ same reply she had told him all those years back.

_ Doctor Steven Rogers, are you trying to get me out with you for another date?, _ she had asked, and Steve can’t help but smile widely, his heart fluttering inside his chest at the memory of it—a seemingly hopeless one before, one that he thought could  _ never _ at all happen yet it’s happening again. And he promises, this time, he would make things right, that this time, he would make sure they would get their happily ever after, their happy ending with each other.

“If I did, would you say yes?” he asks, and Natasha laughs.

_ If I did, would you say yes?, _ he had asked her too, before. But back then, she didn’t laugh. She just smirked at him and raised an eyebrow, as if challenging him to  _ ask _ her on a date, but this time, at  _ this _ moment, she laughs—and it’s that beautiful and melodious laugh that he loves from her. It’s the laugh that makes his heart skip a beat, that makes his chest lighten and his own heart laugh, knowing that he had made her smile and laugh the way she did, and knowing that it’s a laugh out of sincere joy and possibly excitement too.

“If I did, then that’ll be a little too easy, don’t you think?” she asks, and Steve hums, smirking as she grins widely and tilts her head to the side. “But I don’t want you to think I’m too easy.” she adds, and Steve laughs softly.

_ If I did, then you’ll think I’m too easy. I’m not too easy, _ she had said, and he remembers her telling him that in that bossy tone of hers—that charmingly stubborn tone of hers that would always have a hold in his heart and find it endearing.

“Tasha, you’re  _ not _ easy at all,” Steve says softly, and Natasha hums and smirks, tilting her head to the side as Steve chuckles and shakes his head. “Waiting for thirty-six years for a woman like you to come into my life isn’t at all too easy of a task.” he says.

_ Not at all easy, especially when you’ve been waiting for thirty-one years for a woman like you to come into my life. _

Natasha smiles and leans back in her seat, humming as she puts down the cup of ice cream on the table. “Then I take pride in knowing that even just for a split second, I’ve managed to make the legendary Steve Rogers’ life difficult by delaying my yes.” she says, smirking, her eyes sparkling in mirth as Steve laughs softly.

_ I think I’d take pride in knowing that even just for a split second, I’ve managed to make the legendary Steve Rogers’ life difficult by delaying my presence in his life. _

“Then is that a  _ yes, _ Doctor Romanoff?” Steve asks softly, raising an eyebrow at her as he leans forward, sliding his hand on the table, palm facing upward as he looks at her expectantly and she smiles.

_ Then is that a yes I’m hearing, Doctor Romanoff? _

Natasha chuckles softly as she takes his hand, and his smile widens as he takes a hold of her hand in his, and Natasha hums, especially when Steve gives her hand a gentle squeeze. “I guess it’s a yes.” she answers softly, making Steve smile widely, his heart soaring nearly out of his chest as he brings their joint hands together to press his lips on each of her knuckles.

_ I guess it’s a yes, _ she had said too since the beginning, marking the start of their relationship and their eventual love, making Steve smile widely—a million-watt smile as if he’d won the entire world, his heart skipping a beat as he only had  _ nothing _ but a bright vision and bright hope for his future with Natasha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's a bit fluffier than the previous chapters, but i hope you still enjoyed! let me know what you think +++ what you think will happen next! (because we're still ~8 chapters away from the end...) :)


	16. Him and Her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> earlier than usual update to make up for the times i've posted late! long chapter + (lots of) fluff + time jump + flashbacks! hope you bear with it and enjoy!!

Natasha opens the door, and she huffs out a breathy laugh, resting her hand on her hip as she tilts her head to the side. “Steve, I’m not supposed to see you until _later.”_ she says teasingly, though unable to keep the forming smile on her face as Steve chuckles softly and shakes his head.

“I don’t think there’s a rule like that when we’re just going to see each other at _work,_ Nat,” Steve says softly, and Natasha laughs softly. “‘Sides, I did tell you yesterday I was dropping by for breakfast, and you said okay, and that Sarah would love some of those sugary donuts as part of her breakfast.”

“Yeah, but we shouldn’t have to see each other until later.” Natasha repeats, smiling widely, and Steve laughs.

“I only know of _one_ event that has that rule, and this isn’t it.” Steve teases. _Or at least not yet,_ he thinks, his heart leaping inside his chest and fluttering wildly at the thought that _one_ particular event that has _that_ rule. _Soon,_ perhaps, but not _too_ soon yet. Natasha seems to have caught on to this, and a faint blush forms on her cheeks as she ducks her head and chuckles softly.

“Daddy?” Steve hears Sarah’s voice from inside the apartment, and Natasha turns her head, smiling even wider as she looks back at Steve.

“She’ll get used to this, you know—sugary donuts even before she gets to eat _proper_ breakfast.” Natasha says, raising an eyebrow, and Steve grins widely.

“Then I’ll make sure to let her eat her proper breakfast first before giving her the sugary donuts.” Steve says, taking a step forward as Natasha hums and leans in to allow Steve to press a kiss on her forehead. She smiles widely and looks up at him.

“Fine, but if I get used to this and stop preparing breakfast altogether, I’m putting this on you.” Natasha teases, opening the door wide and stepping aside to let Steve in as he laughs softly. He steps in, his eyes flickering over to the toddler in her high chair by the kitchen counter, squealing and bouncing in her seat upon seeing her father as he grins widely and chuckles.

“Deal,” Steve says, walking over by the kitchen counter and putting the bag of donuts and coffee on top of it before picking up Sarah from her seat to press a gentle kiss on the side of her head. The little girl is still in her pyjamas, her blonde wavy hair still mussed from sleep, but her bright green eyes sparkling and happy, as she wraps her arms around her father’s neck and rests her head on his shoulder. “‘M happy to spend the morning with my favorite girls.”

Natasha hums and closes the door, smiling widely as Steve presses kisses on Sarah’s hair, his hand rubbing her back gently. She laughs softly, walking over to them, especially when she sees Sarah’s eyes blinking heavily, as if falling asleep _again,_ when she had made sure her baby is already alive and fully awake before bringing her to the dining area for breakfast. “Someone’s getting sleepy again,” Natasha says, brushing away some of the hair on Sarah’s face as the toddler hums and smiles at her mother. “Just ‘cause Daddy came in, doesn’t mean we can be late for work, sweetie.” She presses a kiss on her forehead as the toddler giggles softly. “Daddy has to work too.”

“You gettin’ sleepy, hm?” Steve asks softly, pulling away slightly to look at the toddler who lifts her head to look up at her father with a huge smile. Steve laughs softly, pressing his lips on the side of her head. “Daddy’s snuggles making you sleepy?”

Sarah hums and grins widely. “Wanna sleep ‘gain.” she says softly, and both parents laugh as Natasha shakes her head and presses a kiss on the tip of the toddler’s nose.

“See, _this_ is why Daddy shouldn’t be allowed for breakfast,” Natasha says, and Steve rolls his eyes playfully as he puts Sarah back to her high chair and he settles on the seat beside her. Natasha brings over Sarah’s bowl of fruits in front of the toddler, as Sarah hums and smiles up at her mother, grabbing her fork so she can start munching on her breakfast. Natasha then brings over her plate of toast and Sarah’s sippy cup. “He might be the reason why Shield’s two doctors would be late _every_ morning.” She then raises an eyebrow at Steve, alongside a teasing smirk as Steve laughs softly.

“I’ll have you know we might be a little more efficient now there’s two of us watching over this little girl right here,” Steve says, and Natasha hums as she takes a bite from her toast. Steve slides over her usual cup of coffee as she hums and gives him a grateful smile. “I can clean up while you get ready.”

“After breakfast, I’ll give Sarah a bath, and by then, you can clean up breakfast,” Natasha tells him as she sips from the coffee Steve brought her. “And _then_ you can get Sarah ready while I take a bath and get myself ready. Sounds good and efficient?” she asks, a glint of amusement in her eyes as Steve nods and smiles.

“Sounds good and efficient,” Steve affirms, and Natasha hums. “We’ll get to leave fifteen minutes earlier than usual, I promise.” Natasha scrunches her nose and raises an eyebrow.

“That’s a bit of a stretch.” she responds with a soft chuckle, and Steve grins and shakes his head.

“Not entirely a stretch,” he tells her as she chuckles. “I can bring you to the hospital too, then bring you home later tonight.” Natasha nods.

“I mean, ‘s what we agreed on,” Natasha says, and Steve hums, his eyes flickering over to Sarah who is munching her fruits happily and contently beside him. He brushes her hair gently as the toddler looks up at him and smiles widely. “The car seat you ordered. It came in already?” she asks.

She had asked him to buy a carseat for Sarah, the same brand she has in her own car, when Steve started to drop by her apartment more frequently over the last few weeks after their shifts and Sarah had expressed her desire to ride in her father’s car. She knew he had already ordered one (a _pink_ one this time, in contrast to Natasha’s yellow-colored carseat, much to her great chagrin since pink is Sarah’s favorite color), but he hadn’t told her yet if he’s already gotten it.

Steve shakes his head. “Amazon Prime said five days for the color pink one, and I haven’t seen a huge package anywhere in my apartment building,” he says, and Natasha chuckles. “It’s only the fourth day anyway.”

“Can’t believe you were willing to wait for _five_ days just so you can get the pink-colored carseat you know she’d grow out of someday anyway.” Natasha says, and Steve laughs.

“That’s in the future, and she’d have to be in a car seat until she’s...what, ten?” Steve asks, and Natasha scrunches her nose.

“Now _that_ one’s a bit of a stretch,” she says with a smirk. “We’ll use the one in my car for the meantime? Have it transferred to yours?” Steve nods.

“Sounds good.” he says with a nod and a wide smile.

It feels so domestic and natural, the way they move and talk, the way they do their arrangements especially with things concerning their little girl. They try to make it as comfortable for her as they can, despite them still navigating their way through their own personal relationship, but other times when they get too caught up in trying to make things for Sarah comfortable, they subconsciously fall into their own dynamics like before—where physical contact and intimacy, like holding hands, small kisses on the forehead and cheek, come off so naturally and without hesitation, especially for Natasha who had long accepted that while there is an acknowledgment of Steve’s mistakes in the past, here he is doing his best to make up for the last three years, and here _she_ is, too, ready to forgive and move forward.

By the end of the whole morning routine, once Natasha emerges from her room already dressed and made-up, her hair fixed and having put on some light makeup on her face, Steve is playing with Sarah on the living room playmat with her dolls and toy cars. He looks up and smiles widely when she looks at her phone in her hand. “Well, what do you know? Fifteen minutes earlier.” she says, and Steve grins widely.

“Told you—efficient and good,” he says, getting up from the mat and picking Sarah up once the toddler extends her arms over to her father. He looks at Natasha and smiles widely. “You look beautiful.” he says softly, earning a faint blush on Natasha’s cheeks and a wide smile.

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” she says with a wink, and Steve laughs and gives her a nod.

They drive to the hospital with Steve’s car, listening to Disney songs and singing along to it. Sarah sits on her car seat at the back of Steve’s car, while Natasha sits on the shotgun seat, singing along to the songs Steve has downloaded in his phone to play it in his car. It’s really domestic, almost _too_ natural, especially with how they always arrive in the hospital together every morning, Sarah on Natasha's hip as Steve carries both his and her bags. They act like a _real_ set of typical married parents, kissing their kid goodbye, promising her lunch in the afternoon before they go back down to the surgical floor, either deep in conversation about Sarah or just teasing and laughing with each other, like how they used to do.

People talk. Of course they do, and _they_ know that. It’s been a little over five months since Steve had come back, more or less a month since Natasha had given Steve a second chance at their personal relationship, and all of these happen with the knowledge that everyone is watching them; watching Natasha either break or easily give in, and watching Steve beg for her forgiveness or altogether leave. They have their own opinions, of course, of whether they’re progressing too fast or just right, whether Natasha’s decision to give Steve a second chance is correct or not, and whether Steve _deserves_ this second chance or not. They have their own notion of what is right or wrong in their relationship, their every move to and from the daycare center, to and from the cafeteria, or even in and out of the hospital whenever they would get small in-between moments to grab some ice cream or whatnot—all of it are being watched, all of it being judged, all of it being put on different sets of opinion from others.

Including their friends, and _really,_ it’s not like they don’t know that too.

“I don’t know, Nat...I don’t mean to judge, really, I _don’t,”_ Clint tells her, and Natasha sighs, leaning back in her own seat in the lounge as she tilts her head and crosses her arms over her chest to look at Clint. “I know you’re a grown woman, and you have the whole right to make your _own_ decisions—”

“You’re right I do,” Natasha interrupts, raising an eyebrow as Clint huffs out a breath. “I know you don’t think I’m doing the right thing, but _I_ do. And I’m doing this not for me, but for Sarah—”

“You say that, but you’re already practically getting _back_ together with him, Nat,” Clint points out, and Natasha furrows her eyebrows at him. “It seems like the second chance you’re giving is not just for Sarah, but also for _him,_ for _you_ and your relationship.”

“Am I _not_ allowed to at least look for a bit of happiness for myself regardless if I say it out loud or not?” she asks, frowning slightly as she looks at Clint. “Giving Steve a shot so that Sarah can get to know her father doesn’t mean _I_ can’t get to have my _own_ shot of what I think is good and happy for me, Clint.”

“Do you think _he’s_ what will make you happy and good?”

“I do, Clint,” Natasha answers firmly, almost as quickly as she could with a nod. “Because he makes me happy, and he makes me feel good. No, we’re not yet _there_ in that stage of how we were before all of these happened, but I’d like to think that we can get there. And I’d like to work on it too, as much as he’s doing his best to work on it as well.”

“And do you think he _deserves_ to have _that_ second chance?” Clint asks. “That chance to work on it, to work on _your_ relationship? Because second chances are rare, Nat, and it’s hard to give them.” Natasha huffs out a breath and shakes her head as she looks away.

“Then what are you expecting me to do, Clint?” she asks softly, looking back at him as she shakes her head slightly. “What do you want me to do? I can’t just stand here and hate him all my life. And I can’t just stand here and wait for him to screw up again, wait for him to make _one_ small mistake without even giving him a chance to be better. That’s not the kind of life _I_ wanna live—the one where I just stand, think and anticipate the worst when there’s always the chance to anticipate and accept the _good._ And I don't wanna miss this one, Clint, I don't wanna miss _this_ chance again."

She shakes her head and sighs. “And I know it’s hard to give out second chances _._ Don’t say I haven’t gone through it, because I did. It _is_ hard to give second chances,” she says softly. “But it’s even harder to ask for them. A chance to do it again knowing what you know now, and what you’ve learned. A chance to do it completely different. A chance to right wrongs, and correct mistakes. A chance to try and start over from scratch—all of it is hard. And I’m not here to glorify him for taking the hard path of asking for it, because I know he deserves to get down on his knees to _ask_ for ‘em, but he's already _here,_ and he's already asking for it, and if I just _stand_ here and watch him do that without even moving a nudge to reach out even a finger to him, how will I even know if it’s _worth_ giving or not?" She shakes her head lightly. "I’m holding on to the hope that it’s worth giving a shot, Clint, and I’m holding on tight, just as much as the others are holding their breaths into thinking that _I’ve_ made the right decision in doing this too because I _want_ it to be. I want it to be the right decision.”

Clint furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head slightly, but Natasha just sighs and looks at him pleadingly, as if begging him to understand her and see the logic in her decision. He does. He sees it, and he doesn’t expect any less of a decision coming from Natasha, especially since he knows of her heart and how big and loving it naturally is, even to people who may have hurt her in the past. He knows the logic behind her decision, knows that it’s better to risk giving a second chance than have to just live life in a box, where all she ever will be is paranoid and closed off not only to Steve but also to others; to a second chance at life and _love_ in general. 

He understands it, but it doesn’t mean he likes it. He _doesn't,_ not on behalf of her.

“You say that like he hasn't hurt you. Like he's _always_ been there all your life, and he never left,” he tells her quietly, and Natasha sighs. “How can you just...forgive him so quickly? Give him a chance so quickly?”

Natasha shakes her head. “I can't hold a long grudge like that, Clint. You know me better than that,” she tells him softly with a small smile. “That's a tough way to live, and it's not how _I_ want to live. It's not how I want Sarah to live either.”

He may not like it, and he may still be wary of it, but _really,_ it's not like Clint can control her, can't he? He can't tell her what to do, or what not to do, can't dictate her on who to love and who to _not_ love. So he lets out a sigh, pursing his lips as he looks straight into her eyes. “Are you sure? Are you sure about this?” he asks quietly, raising a worried eyebrow at Natasha. “Because if you _are,_ Nat, I…” He sighs and shakes his head. “Tell me you're sure about this. This decision that you have, to finally let him in, be a part of your life.”

“He’s always been a part, Clint, in more ways than we’ve ever allowed him to be,” Natasha tells him softly as she shakes her head. “And...I am. I...I know he’s not perfect, and I know at some point, there could still be struggles and there could still be mistakes, but, _really,_ it isn’t _us_ if there wouldn’t be any.” She gives him a small smile and a light shrug. “It’s always been us ever since the beginning.”

“But what if you get hurt again?” he asks quietly, and Natasha’s gaze softens at him as he shakes his head lightly. “What if he hurts _you_ again? I don’t want you to get hurt again, Nat, I don’t want you and Sarah to get hurt by him.”

“He won’t. He won’t hurt Sarah, and he wouldn’t hurt me. I have faith that he won’t,” Natasha tells him softly with a small and gentle smile. “Or if he will, it’s the same kind of natural hurt people have in relationships—the ones that are easy to forgive and unintentional, the same one that I’d for sure do to him as well.”

Clint sighs, really having _nothing_ else to argue against in defense of what he wants to happen for Natasha, and stays silent. Natasha, on the other hand, smiles gently and leans forward, clasping her hands and resting it on top of the table. “I’m gonna be fine, Clint. I promise you I will,” she tells him softly, and Clint looks up at her as she smiles at him. “I know what I’m doing, and I know that what I'm doing is right. _Please_ trust me on that.”

Clint pauses for a moment before he eventually nods with a sigh, and Natasha’s smile widens in relief. “Laura’s not at all too fond of this idea, by the way. And it’s gonna take a long time before either of us will have to be on board with this thing.” he says, and Natasha chuckles and nods.

“I don’t expect any less coming from you.” she says with a smile, and Clint tilts his head to the side and regards his friend. She really _does_ look happy, glowing, even, the sparkle in her eyes she once had, and he’d been familiar with before, one he assigned it to younger years before even Sarah had been born, it’s back. And he figures it’s back because of the happiness, the _overflowing_ happiness and love she’s feeling, and it’s probably stemming from this blooming progress she is having with Steve, this _second_ chance she’s giving, and she’s surely benefiting from too. Maybe he _is_ treating her right, and maybe he _does_ deserve this chance being given to him.

“Do you love him, Nat?” Clint asks softly, and Natasha pauses for a moment, as if taken slightly aback by his question. “Can you answer me that as honestly as you can? And I promise to let it go. Do you love him?”

It seems like an absurd question, really, as if he doesn’t already see it in her eyes, and in the way she reasons with him, the way she fights for him and her decision to let him back in. It seems like a question already with an obvious answer, but it’s also a question he also _needs_ to hear the answer to, if only to assure _him_ that she really does feel that way, and she feels it so sincerely and without force. She gives him a smile, a small but bright one, her eyes sparkling and bright, her cheeks naturally rosy as if she’s blushing, and Clint knows that he _really_ doesn’t need to hear the answer to that, because it’s already seen on her face, already obvious with the glow surrounding her.

“I do, Clint,” she answers him softly, the way he knows she will, the way he knows she will always respond to that answer. “I do love him.”

And it’s the only thing that matters.

At the same time, Steve steps out of the operating room, and releasing a relieved breath and stretching his arms and body, he spots Bucky by the operating room board, the ortho surgeon looking up and scanning the surgeries. He turns and finds Steve walking towards him, and Bucky gives him a small nod in greeting.

“Just got out of surgery?” Bucky asks, and Steve sighs and nods, resting both hands on his hips as he stops in front of the O.R. board beside Bucky.

“Coronary artery bypass grafting,” Steve says, and Bucky hums, his eyebrows raising when he sees his schedule on the board. “It’s on a forty-two-year-old man, and he was already hypertensive so it was a huge risk.” Bucky nods in agreement.

“Well, it seems that the man already needs a change of diet from the start, he’s more forced to comply with the low-cholesterol diet now,” Bucky says, and Steve huffs out a small chuckle as he nods in agreement. “He made it, right?” Steve nods.

“And you’re right, he’s forced to comply now with the dietary restrictions prescribed to him from the start,” he continues, and Bucky huffs out a small chuckle as he nods. Steve looks up at the board and scans the entirety of it. “You have an incoming one?” he asks, his eyes landing on Bucky’s name on the board.

“Hip arthroscopy, labral reconstruction on a nineteen-year-old football player who got in an accident while training, tore his labrum when he fell,” Bucky says, and Steve winces slightly as Bucky nods and shrugs. “I know. I didn’t expect a labral reconstruction to be done to a nineteen-year-old either but here we are.” he says with a light huff of a chuckle as he shakes his head. “Some people’s hips are just meant to be fragile.”

“Including teenagers,” Steve says with a nod, and Bucky hums, the corner of his mouth twitching up to a smirk. “Arthroscopic reconstruction...will you be using a graft?” he asks, looking at Bucky as the orthopedic surgeon nods.

“I’ll be using semitendinosus allograft as a graft source for this one. It’s the newest technique recommended by ortho surgeons too when it comes to labral reconstructions, since it’s more time-efficient in the graft preparation. Though it has its downs, it’s more of sanitation purposes which will be taken care of,” Bucky explains, and he lifts a shoulder to a small shrug. “‘Sides, it shows more promising results than the usual techniques, and it isn’t the first time I’ll be doing this so it’ll work.”

Steve nods. “I don’t doubt it will,” he says softly, giving Bucky a small and tentative smile, one that doesn’t escape Bucky’s notice, though, and the man returns a smile of his own. Steve gives him a nod. “I’ll see you around, Bucky.”

He waits for a few more moments, watching the cardiac surgeon, his former best friend, his other best friend’s _lover,_ walk off a few meters away from him before he sighs and speaks up. “How’ve you been?” he asks, which is probably not the best starter of a line in his opinion, but it was enough to make the blonde man turn to look at him. Steve raises his eyebrows, probably both in question and surprise at the question directed towards him. Bucky releases a breath and shakes his head slightly. He is _never_ gonna get good at this, this fixing friendships thing. “I heard you and Nat, you...you’re trying to figure things out together again.” he says.

Steve pauses for a moment, before he gives him a small nod and a small smile. “We are. We’re doing our best... _I’m_ doing my best,” he answers quietly, and Bucky gives a small nod. “We haven’t quite gotten there yet, but...we will.” Steve gives him a wide smile, his eyes sparkling with hope as he looks at his friend. “We’ll get there.”

Bucky nods again, and he lowers his head. “And Sarah? For sure you’ve met the little girl already?” he asks, lifting his head to look at Steve. He watches as the man’s eyes brighten at the mention of the girl’s name, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small smile, and Bucky is sure that Steve isn’t even conscious of it happening. There’s a fond sparkle in his eyes when he mentions Sarah, a sparkle of adoration and love for his little girl, that Bucky doesn’t need to hear Steve verbalize his love for his and Natasha’s daughter. It’s obvious enough already.

“I did, yeah,” Steve answers softly, smiling. “Nat gave me the chance to get to know her. She’s...she’s perfect. _Both_ of them are.” He lets out a small chuckle as he smiles widely. “Sarah must’ve gotten it from Nat, the perfection she holds.”

Bucky lets out a huffed chuckle as he nods, tucking his hands in the pockets of his scrubs. “Yeah,” he agrees with a nod. “Yeah, I know.”

Steve nods, and he looks down at his feet as he lowers his head. “I...Nat told me when...during the three years, she wasn’t...s-she got support from others, from people in this hospital especially with Sarah,” he says quietly, and Bucky lifts his chin slightly. “I know...I know one of ‘em was you, that you took care of ‘em, helped Nat take care of Sarah. And…” he trails off and sighs, shaking his head slightly as he purses his lips and looks down at his feet. He looks hesitant, Bucky thinks, _shy,_ even, uncertain perhaps whether what he’s about to say is appropriate or not. “And I don’t...I just, I just...wanna say thank you. For doing it, for taking care of them.” He looks up at Bucky and gives him a small nod and a small hesitant smile. “Thank you.”

Bucky takes a deep breath and shakes his head slightly. “I didn’t do it for you.” he says quietly, and Steve nods.

“I know,” he says. “I know, and...and I’m sorry that...that _you_ had to do it instead of me, but…” He sighs and shakes his head. “It still meant a lot, knowing they were taken care of. And it doesn’t...I know it doesn’t erase the fact that I wasn’t there, that I still...I still put in a lot of hurt, and it doesn’t make what I did any better, or any more okay when it’s not, but knowing that...that somehow they were okay when a lot of things had happened, it’s…” he trails off and shakes his head, looking up at Bucky as the orthopedic surgeon nods in understanding.

 _It doesn’t make it okay, doesn’t make the guilt any less or the shame alleviated in any way, but it’s a relief, still, to know that they were fine even without his presence, that somehow they survived and thrived well without needing him._ Bucky understands that, and he gives Steve a nod.

“It won’t be the same now if you do it again,” Bucky tells Steve with a shake of his head. “You won’t have it easy, should you do it again the next time. You gotta make sure you won’t do it again.” He pauses, and he sighs. “You gotta make sure you won’t leave again, Steve.” _Be sure you won’t break her heart again._

“I won’t,” Steve assures Bucky with a firm nod. “I’m not going anywhere, Buck.”

He nods, feeling his heart hammering against his chest as he watches Steve give him a nod and a smile, but he pauses, perhaps seeing the look on Bucky’s face—hesitant, as if he’s about to say something more, and he waits, tilting his head to the side as Bucky looks down at his feet and swallows down his throat. He takes a deep breath, wondering if it’s alright to say it, wondering if it’s _appropriate_ to say it, when there’s really no use with the information he’s about to give, when he doesn’t at all plan to do anything about it, when there’s no _use_ in saying it if the sole objective is to move on and move forward—to mend what has been broken, to take the steps into taking back what had been lost.

But he aims to be honest, especially as this was...or _is_ his best friend.

Bucky takes a deep breath, and he lifts his eyes to look at Steve straight in his eyes. “I fell in love with her,” he tells him quietly, and Steve’s eyes widen slightly in surprise, his mouth opening slightly as if to say something, but nothing really comes out as he waits for him to continue. “I fell in love with Natasha during those three years, Steve.” he confesses.

And Steve pauses, taken aback slightly at the sudden confession, but in all honesty _not_ surprised. “She didn’t...she didn’t. At least not with me,” Bucky continues with a small nod as he clenches his jaw. “But _I_ did. I fell in love with your girl, Steve.”

Steve swallows down his throat and clenches his jaw as he nods. “It’s...it’s kinda hard not to...with her,” he tells him quietly. “And she...she wasn't my girl that time, Buck. N-not...not after I left.” Bucky shakes his head.

“She's always been your girl, Steve,” he tells him, and he gives him a small shrug. “Everyone knows that, even if the both of you don't.” _She never stopped loving you,_ he meant to say, but Bucky knows he doesn't have to say the obvious, say what Steve already knows.

Steve clenches his jaw, as if not believing his friend as he looks down at his feet, and Bucky sighs. “You don’t deserve her, Steve,” he says, and Steve looks up at him, furrowing his eyebrows slightly for a second, until the corners of Bucky’s mouth twitch into a smirk. “She's an angel you don't deserve, an angel _no_ man deserves.” Steve huffs out a small chuckle, his mind wandering back to the first ever time Steve had told Bucky he was dating Natasha all those years back.

_You’re out with Natasha Romanoff? She’s an angel you don’t deserve, punk. She’s an angel no man deserves._

“I know. She's perfect, and I'm not,” Steve responds, raising an amused eyebrow, but Bucky can see the sincerity in his eyes. “But I love her, Bucky, and I’m doing my best to be at least a quarter of a man whom she deserves.”

_I know. She's perfect, and I'm not, but I love her, Bucky. I love her, and I’m here doing my best to at least be a quarter of the perfect man she deserves anyway._

Bucky’s mouth twitches into a small smirk as he huffs out a laugh and he nods. “I’ll see you around, punk.” he tells Steve, who smiles and nods.

“You too, Buck.” he says, giving Bucky one last smile before he watches the blonde turn and walk off to the hallway. Bucky lets out a small chuckle and a shake of his head. Things will be fine, he supposes, things _should_ be fine.

Steve walks inside the attendings’ lounge, releasing a breath as he takes off his surgical cap, and he smiles when he sees Natasha look up from her patient records, giving him a bright and beautiful smile. She puts her pen down and leans back in her seat as Steve closes the door behind him. “Long, exhausting surgery?” she asks softly, and Steve sighs and chuckles, walking over to her. He leans down to press a light kiss on her forehead as she hums, and he takes a seat on the chair beside her.

“It’s the usual,” Steve responds softly with a smile, and Natasha hums, smiling widely as Steve takes her hand in his on the table. She gives his hand a light squeeze as he smiles up at her. “I got to talk to Bucky earlier, after I got off of surgery, and he was about to go in.” Natasha hums.

“What did he say?” she asks, tilting her head to the side. “Or let me guess, is it about something that’s between us? This thing we’re doing, the whole...being nice, civil and trying, and me not-smacking-your-head-for-what-you-did thing?” she asks, and Steve chuckles softly. “‘Cause that’s been the latest talk around the hospital for quite a while now, Steven.”

“I’m grateful you haven’t literally smacked my head off as of now.” Steve says, and Natasha chuckles, shaking her head and raising an eyebrow at him.

“As of _now._ You’ll never know what’s gonna happen next.” she quips teasingly, and Steve laughs softly, giving Natasha’s hand a light squeeze as he lifts her hand to press a kiss on the back of her hand.

“He told me the same thing he told me way before we first started dating—that no man ever deserves you, and not even me. And I still believe that, I do, but I _want_ to be that man for you, Nat, for you and Sarah, I wanna be the one you both deserve,” Steve tells her softly, looking at Natasha straight in the eyes as her eyes soften as she looks at him. He gives her a gentle smile as he squeezes her hand gently. “And I’m trying, Nat, I am, because I really want us to last a lifetime. And I know it’s still a risk, that being with me is probably still a risk, but I do promise you I won’t ever leave, that I won’t be going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere else but home...with you.” he tells her softly, and he smiles. “Because I love you, Nat. I really do, so much.”

She knows, and she thinks that for once, she _really_ believes him. She knows he is trying. She sees it in the way he waits until she holds his hand first before he can do anything she knows he wants. She sees it in the way he smiles when Sarah calls for him, and the way his eyes brighten whenever he would make Sarah happy. She sees it in the way he stands patiently in front of the hospital every morning, the way he hands her her cup of coffee, and the way he waits for her before they go to Sarah. She sees it, even during their period of limbo, where the hurt had been overwhelming yet he still tried and held on even if she was on the brink of giving up herself. She sees it in the way he smiles at her, the way he looks, the way he holds her hand and the way he embraces her.

And she knows, too, that this is yet again a risk—another possible leap of faith, but which kind of love isn’t, anyway?

“I know,” she whispers, smiling as Steve presses a kiss on her hand again and she feels her heart fluttering inside her chest. She takes a deep breath and smiles widely. “I want this, Steve, and I want you.” Steve smiles and presses another soft kiss on her hand, and she takes a breath again. “And I accept the risk because I know it’s worth it, and you matter to me. And I’m not going anywhere else, either.”

And because she knows that all types of love, especially those that have risen again from mended hearts, are all complicated, which she thinks is _good,_ actually good. Because if it’s too simple, she thinks, then none of them would have a reason to try, and if they don’t have any reason to, they won’t. So _this_ love, this _thing_ they have, while it’s not yet a full shell of a relationship yet, not like what they had before, it’s still worth a shot, it’s still worth trying for. And she’s here for all of it.

Steve leans in to press a kiss on her the apple of her cheek, and she giggles softly, giving Steve a bright smile and a squeeze on his hand. “You know,” she says softly, raising an eyebrow at him. “I _am_ craving for some milkshake, specifically from the one two blocks away.” Steve raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a smile as he hums.

“Let me guess. Is it a fruity pebbles shake?” he asks, and Natasha smiles widely, her eyes sparkling as she nods. “The one with the vanilla frosted rim, with fruity pebbles topped with a fruity pebbles Rice Krispy treat, strawberry pop tart, laffy taffy, whipped cream and a cherry on top.” Natasha laughs softly and nods.

“That’s the _perfect_ one I’m thinking of. You’re getting good at mind-reading, Steve Rogers,” she responds, and Steve laughs. “And I happen to realize too, that _somebody_ here is yet to take me out for a _daily_ date like how he promised me yesterday,” she says softly, leaning to press a kiss on Steve’s cheek as he chuckles softly. “And the day before that.” She presses another kiss on his other cheek. “And the day _before_ that.” She presses a kiss on his nose before she pulls away, her eyes sparkling brightly as he laughs, feeling his heart leaping and fluttering inside his chest.

“Well, lucky for you that man doesn’t forget, does he?” he tells her, leaning forward to press a kiss on the tip of her nose as she scrunches it and giggles, and Steve grins widely and pulls away, pulling her up and intertwining their fingers together. “And lucky for _you,_ he also happens to be free until the end of his shift too.”

“Lucky me, indeed.” she quips, smiling widely at him as they walk out of the lounge together.

It’s a thing they do, a thing Steve had proposed for them to do but for her it had been an easy yes regardless—them going out on mini dates in their short amount of time off, ever since _that_ afternoon Steve bought her ice cream after their period of limbo. As much as they can, Steve takes her out on dates—regular ones, where most days he surprises her of where he brings her, and other days she preempts him, and requests for him to take _her_ somewhere she likes, or somewhere she craves for. Insofar, they have been to either milkshake or ice cream places, other times burger houses whenever Natasha would crave for some after a long surgery and she would sometimes miss half of lunch with him and Sarah. They would sometimes just stroll along the block, hand-in-hand, and while the streets of Manhattan is not exactly the _most_ ideal place for a stroll, it'll have to do, they suppose, if only to bring down the amount of food intake they would sometimes have in their dates.

And they know people watch, and people think, and people have their own opinions on them, but at this point for Natasha, she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care what _anyone_ thinks for as long as _she_ is happy, and for as long as Sarah is happy, and they _are._ Steve makes them happy, and she’s here to seize every moment of happiness that he is giving her, no matter what anyone may say or think.

Days pass, those of which eventually turn into weeks, with each day passing and brushing off just like any other—those consisting of morning visits from Steve, lunches in daycare, late afternoon dates and dinners over at her apartment. Even in their days off, Steve would drop by and spend the entire day over at Natasha’s apartment, bringing breakfast so Natasha wouldn’t have to cook some. On these occasions, they would wake Sarah up together, and the toddler—who is _actually_ smart enough to know that if she’s being woken up a little earlier than the usual, by both Mommy and Daddy in the morning, then it’s a no-work day for both of her parents—would fall asleep _once_ again during breakfast, this time on Steve’s chest while he does his best to eat his own breakfast and converse with Natasha. They would spend the day playing and watching movies, and on occasion, they would go out to a park, where Steve would run around with Sarah to play as Natasha watched with a fond smile on her face. These days would end the same way as how it would start—a long embrace and a kiss on the cheek, sometimes a kiss on the forehead in Steve’s case. There would be lingering touches, as if wanting for more and _aching_ for more, but they would be conscious enough to know where the line is drawn for now, and they would part, looking forward for the next day once again.

And these days pass by so quickly, that even as Natasha’s birthday had come, she’d barely noticed it if not for Steve knocking on her door so _unusually_ early, presenting her with a chocolate cake with a candle in the middle. “Special delivery for a special birthday girl.” he greeted her, and it was enough to wake Natasha up, laughing at how cheesy and corny he had been, yet not denying the flutter in her heart at seeing him so adorably dorky.

While they had to work that day, Steve did his best to make _her_ day extraordinary, one that stands out from the rest of the days of their normal week. For starters, she found out how their little girl had a mini surprise for her too, brought only by Steve whom Sarah had asked to keep for her since she had _no_ way of keeping secrets from her Mommy. It was a bracelet she had made (and later on, she had learned that Steve had been coming up frequently in daycare to help her with it, which she would _love_ to see someday), one that’s made out of the components of a kids’ jewelry making kit found in the daycare center of the hospital. It’s the one that’s too flashy and a _little_ too pink for Natasha’s preference, one made out of nylon and acrylic beads, but it was enough to make her heart melt and happy tears fill her eyes as she accepted it from her little girl, earning Sarah kisses on her cheek as she insisted on Natasha wearing it on her wrist. She never removed the bracelet, even after that day had gone, and made it a point to _always_ wear it especially outside of the operating room.

And for her, that day had been one of the _best_ dates she had ever had with Steve, counting those that they’ve had years before up until now. It was nothing flashy, nothing too extravagant and too big, as she had threatened him multiple times that he’d ever plan a huge surprise for her, then she would leave him (she _won’t,_ not really). The morning started with all of their friends surprising her inside the attendings’ lounge, a huge birthday cake on the table, and everyone singing and greeting her a happy birthday. She later found out that while it had _not_ been solely Steve’s idea to prepare for the surprise she would later reach in the lounge, it had been _his_ idea to gather everyone who meant a lot to her—that even Wanda, Jemma, Sam and Daisy, all the residents that she holds dear in her heart, had been allowed inside the lounge just for the surprise, and that Sharon, Bobbi and Clint had stayed to greet and sing despite their graveyard shift supposedly ending _that_ morning.

It’s a small gesture, yes, but it meant a lot—having everyone she loves in the same room with her.

She had also learned that Steve had taken a surgery for her, for _both_ of them to do—something _apparently_ he had called in a favor from Carol Danvers. “You let Carol _wait_ for a neurocardiac case only for her to _bring_ it all the way to Manhattan from Hopkins?” she had asked Steve amusingly, to which he laughed and blushed, and nonetheless confirmed with a nod. They were in the test room, looking over at CT scans and ultrasounds, his one arm wrapped around her waist as he pressed a kiss on her hair.

“Well, I specifically asked her for _any_ unique neuro case she might have and bring in here to us. Then I asked Banner if _he_ could watch out for any unique neuro cases so he could give it to you because I know how much you like the thrill of long neuro surgeries,” Steve murmured in her hair, and Natasha laughed softly. “But then Danvers sent the case first, and I grabbed it as soon as I could when I found out what it is.”

Natasha smiled widely. “So _you_ decided to give me…”

“Cerebral embolism, watershed infarction and mets caused by ventricular aneurysm on a thirty-eight-year-old woman. Her name is Mila Watts,” Steve responded, pointing over at the brain scans showing the mets and infarcts on the brain, beside which is the ECG showing the aneurysm in the patient’s heart. “And she needs our help.”

“This sounds like she can’t stand a chance no matter _what_ we do.” Natasha told him with a soft chuckle, leaning back on his chest as she studied the scans, but Steve just hummed and pressed his lips on her head.

“But a treat is still a treat, right?” he asked, and Natasha hummed and chuckled. “I know you like the high...the thrill of complicated neuro surgeons such as this one.”

“You know me well, and you’ve known me as a neurosurgeon for less than a year,” she teased, and Steve chuckled, tightening his hold around her, and pressing a kiss on her cheek as she sighed and smiled. “You sure this isn’t a lost cause? Don’t wanna add it to my mortality rate.”

“With skills like yours, no doubt you can fix her,” he told her. “‘Sides, Carol told me she was unwilling to give her to _just_ any other doctor, she believed you can do it better than most in Hopkins too.”

“Stop saying that or I’ll end up being cocky,” Natasha said with a smirk and Steve laughed softly as Natasha grinned, turning her head to face him, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she rests her hand on his. “You’ll scrub in with me?” she asked and Steve nodded.

“I’ll be there,” he said, and Natasha grinned widely. “It’s _my_ gift, after all.”

“No, this is _Carol’s_ gift.”

“By my request.”

Natasha chuckled softly, leaning up to press a soft kiss on his cheek. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Steven.” she said, and Steve grinned at that.

It was a success, of course, albeit one of the longest surgeries they’ve had in a _long_ time. It wasn’t _that_ complicated, or at least it wasn’t for Natasha, who had quickly eased into strategizing how she could tackle the surgery before Steve could fix the patient. They ended their shift by picking up Sarah from daycare, the toddler beaming when she saw the bracelet she had made still on Natasha’s wrist, before Steve drove both of them to an expensive Italian restaurant they’ve both been eyeing to go to but never really found the time, or if they _did,_ they would forget. But, Natasha thought, that wasn’t the best part of her birthday just yet.

They ended up back in her apartment after dinner, and after washing up their toddler and tucking her to bed (as she had _completely_ passed out after dinner and some ice cream), Steve had stayed behind, while Natasha took out the cake he had brought this morning and some wine. They ate and drank, laughed and told each other stories, both of them mostly reminiscing past birthday celebrations—both hers and his, the ones they’ve celebrated together—and of everything that had happened in their day. It’s much like _any_ other conversation, really, nothing they’ve never had for the past months they’ve been…“together” or some sorts. It was nothing extraordinary, nothing too extravagant, with no elaborate love confessions and whatnot.

“It’s almost midnight,” Steve said, looking up at the clock as he grinned, and Natasha raised an eyebrow as she watched Steve take out a candle from the pocket of his dress shirt (she wondered how long did he have the candle in there, but figured it might ruin the moment). He put the candle on top of the remaining chocolate cake slice on Natasha’s plate as she laughed, and watched him pull out a lighter to light the candle up. Steve grinned up at her. “I know you already blew a candle early this morning, but we always did have a thing of making a birthday wish both at the start _and_ at the end of a birthday, so…” Steve grinned widely. “Make a wish, Nat.”

Natasha laughed, feeling her heart leap inside her chest as she looked at the candle, and back at Steve’s bright and sparkling eyes, and how she saw love, gratefulness and adoration in both his eyes and his smile. He held her hand and gave it a light squeeze, and she chuckled softly, feeling a spur of emotions rising up inside her and running through her head, especially as she continued to look at Steve’s eyes, as she continued to watch his beautiful smile. She thought about how she spent the day, and what _had_ happened that day. From the morning breakfast, to Sarah surprising her with a bracelet she made for her, to her friends greeting her, to their usual lunch at daycare, to their daily date done in a form of a successful surgery, to dinner and to an intimate wine-and-cake date with Steve. She was grateful for every bit of it, and she couldn’t imagine a _better_ way of spending her birthday than all of those.

And that’s when the _best_ part of her birthday came in—the mere realization that she had been lucky and blessed to have already gotten what she could ever ask for: love, life and family. So she thought—what _else_ could she ever ask for?

She gave Steve a wide smile, her eyes glassy with emotions and grateful tears. “What if I don’t have anything to wish for?” she asked him. “What if I have everything I could ever want?”

Steve smiled widely at her, and he let out a soft laugh. “Then wish that nothing changes.” he said softly, and with a wide smile, she did, as she closed her eyes and blew the candle out.

She snaps out of her thoughts when she feels strong arms snaking around her waist from behind, taking her back from memories of _her_ birthday, and bringing her back to the present—to her little girl’s third birthday party inside her humble apartment, with all of Steve and Natasha’s friends present alongside Sarah’s daycare friends, including Cooper, Lila and Nate, Clint and Laura’s kids. She feels a soft kiss press on the side of her head as she rests her hands on the familiar arms, resting back on the firm chest behind her as she hums and smiles widely. She lifts her head and looks up at Steve who gives her a wide smile as he presses another kiss on top of her head.

“You seem so far away,” Steve says softly, and she chuckles, turning back as her eyes land on the scene in front of her—her friends drinking and eating, gathered in small groups, spread on the couch and by the seats on the kitchen counter, and Natasha and the kids in the middle of the living room playing with the new toys and goodies they’ve specifically bought for her mermaid-themed birthday party. They occasionally get entertained by both Thor and Bucky, both of whom apparently have skills in balloon twisting, and they also happen to entertain their adult friends as well, who continuously tease yet request for different sorts of animals to be made from the balloon. “Penny for the thoughts inside that beautiful head of yours?” he asks, burying his nose against her hair as she chuckles.

“Just thinking about how my sister isn’t here,” Natasha says, raising an eyebrow as she looks at Steve who sighs and gives her a small smile. “And I _know_ she supplied for, like, _half_ of the decors in her party, but Sarah would’ve loved it more if her Auntie Lena were here.”

Steve hums. “She did say she was sorry, and she gave Sarah her gift so she didn’t forget. It must count for something,” he responds, and Natasha hums, sighing as she buries her head further in his chest, his hold around her tightening. “What was it? Something in her business she couldn’t leave?” he asks, and Natasha nods.

“Whatever that is. It’s just sad since she’s always missed Sarah’s birthdays.” she responds quietly, and Steve presses his lips on her head.

“I did too.” he responds quietly, but Natasha shakes her head, refusing to allow _either_ or both of them go down the path of melancholy and regret because _this_ was supposed to be a happy event. She refuses to let even Steve be affected by those that had happened in the past.

“But you’re here now,” Natasha tells him firmly yet softly, looking up at him to meet his eyes, giving him a soft smile. “And you basically organized the _entire_ party yourself, so...it matters. You being here now matters.” she tells him softly, and he gives her a small smile, nodding as he presses his lips on her forehead, and she closes her eyes and hums, before turning back to watch the party unfold in front of them.

It’s a simple birthday party, really, one that was basically planned by Steve himself, with a bit of _her_ help only in terms of space (hence, apartment as a venue). When they had asked Sarah what kind of birthday party she wanted to have, apart from telling them she wanted to have mermaids in her party (thus, mermaid cut-outs, the dominantly pink-colored decorations and her flowy “mermaid” dress she picked out for herself), she had also made it clear how much she wanted her friends, aunts and uncles to be there and they would just play freely by themselves. And since her friends mostly consist of the Barton kids, and a few other kids from daycare, all of which are kids of other doctors Natasha and Steve have worked with, it had been a pretty easy to party to organize. The party consists of eleven adult guests and six other kids, so it wasn’t _that_ big of a party.

“It’s not as much as me as our friends too, you know, since they brought in more than _half_ of the food we’re eating, including the mermaid cupcakes,” Steve says, smiling when he spots the _last_ mermaid cupcake on the tray by the kitchen counter, and Natasha chuckles. “Sharon brought those, by the way, have you tried ‘em?”

“I thought I should let you know, she also gave me a smaller box filled with those cupcakes, said it was a reserve she wanted to bring in since she was confident the cupcakes would be finished,” Natasha replies, and she grins widely when she spots Bucky getting the last cupcake, and Daisy and Wanda frowning at him, groaning when the ortho surgeon took a bite with a sly smile, and both Steve and Natasha laugh. “I haven’t tried them, and it seems like I shouldn’t have to wait too long to try ‘em.”

“They’re pretty good. Asked her where she bought it, told me it was a secret,” Steve responds, and Natasha laughs softly. “You’ve already eaten, right?” Natasha hums and nods.

“Tried the mac and cheese Clint brought. Sarah loved ‘em too, so I sneaked a portion and stored some already in the fridge,” she says, and Steve laughs, shaking his head fondly. “Which is a good decision, since the three trays he brought are practically wiped clean.” Steve hums and grins.

“No thanks to me,” he responds guiltily, and Natasha laughs, grinning up at Steve who looks down at her with a sheepish smile. “I mean, combining it with the fried chicken and fries Bucky and Thor brought in, you won’t resist a second and third round.”

“Did you at _least_ make sure all the kids have eaten before you hoarded the rest?” Natasha asks, teasingly, raising an eyebrow at him as he chuckles.

“Yes, ma’am, I did.”

The party continues on, until eventually Clint had announced (on behalf of Sarah) that it was time to open the presents for the toddler. They sit on the floor, their little girl on Steve’s lap as Natasha hands the toddler the gifts, helping her open them one by one, and everyone watching, cheering, laughing and commenting at every gift Sarah receives, and at every reaction she has on the gifts. She’d received wonderful gifts from her aunties, uncles and friends, all of which were received graciously by Sarah, her eyes sparkling at every gift she receives.

She’s received a Mickey Mouse Lego building kit from the Barton family, a beads set from her Auntie Sharon (to which Sarah exclaims, “More bracelets for Mommy and Daddy!” and everybody laughs as they start teasing Steve for having to wear the bracelets Sarah would make, that of which he has no problem with, really), a toy medical kit from her Auntie Wanda, a wooden playscape set from her Uncle Tony and Auntie Pepper (to which Sarah had excitedly squealed, especially when she saw the toy rovers she had perceived as cars), a Play-Doh kit from her Auntie Bobbi, a full toy car set (complete with trucks) from her Uncle Sam, Auntie Jemma and Auntie Daisy, a treasure hunt board game set from her Uncle Bucky (Natasha raises an eyebrow at Bucky at this, but he just shrugged and grinned slyly especially when Sarah had told her parents to play it with her _tonight),_ a set of story and coloring books from Uncle Thor, and a few doll sets from her daycare friends. Steve had also brought out her Auntie Yelena’s gift to her, a pink scooter with pom-poms, while Steve and Natasha had bought their little girl a pink bike, hoping to jumpstart their toddler into being more in touch with the outdoors and green spaces.

And soon, the party starts to subsides. By late afternoon, the kids get fetched by their parents from Natasha’s apartments, both Steve and Natasha thanking their colleagues for letting their kids drop by, while Sarah and the kids still continue to babble despite the impending goodbyes. The residents, Wanda, Jemma, Sam and Daisy, eventually had to run back to duty too, and they greet and kiss Sarah a happy birthday before scurrying and hurrying off to the hospital, and leaving the attendings behind.

And It’s also not long after until they start cleaning up, and eventually the Bartons announce their departure once the party decorations are already taken down. Sarah had already grown tired from playing and eating, a wide and sleepy smile on her face when she extends her arms over to Natasha who carries her and lets her rest on her chest as she sits on the couch, watching Steve and the others move about to clean the dishes, sweep the floor clean, dispose of gift wraps and other trash, and rearrange the other furniture back to its original place. Sarah lifts her head from her mother’s chest, smiling widely, and when Natasha turns, she finds Bobbi and Sharon approaching them, sitting down beside Natasha and Sarah.

“We’re heading out. I’ve got a shift early tomorrow morning, and I’m on call for the night,” Bobbi says, and her eyes flicker down to Sarah as the trauma surgeon cups her face and presses a light kiss on her forehead. “D’you have a great time for your birthday, princess?” she asks, and Sarah hums and nods, smiling widely as Bobbi chuckles. “Happy birthday, little one.”

“Say thank you, baby.” Natasha says softly, nudging the little girl as the three-year-old (three! Her baby is now _three_ years old) giggles and smiles widely at Bobbi.

“Thank you, Auntie Bobbi.” she responds softly, and Bobbi hums and presses another kiss on her forehead. She leans to press a kiss on Natasha’s cheek too, before getting up to let Sharon sit beside Natasha and Sarah. The toddler’s face lightens as she grins widely at her newly-found auntie merely a few months ago, and Sharon chuckles softly as she brushes her fingers through the little girl’s soft hair.

“Have I told you how much she looks like you?” Sharon asks, her eyes flickering to Sarah as she smiles widely, tapping the tip of the toddler’s nose. “D’you know you look _so_ much like your Mommy?” she asks in a lighter tone, leaning to press a soft kiss on her nose as Sarah giggles and Natasha chuckles.

Natasha looks at her old friend tenderly, a gentle smile on her lips. “Thank you for coming here, Sharon,” she says softly, and Sharon lifts her eyes to look at Natasha. “It...it really means a lot.” she adds softly.

And Sharon smiles, widely and sincerely, her eyes sparkling as she straightens in her seat and gives Natasha a nod. She knows Natasha is not entirely saying thank you on behalf of Sarah, for coming to her daughter’s birthday party at the request of the little girl. She knows there’s something else behind her declaration of gratefulness, her presence meaning a _lot_ more than being there as Auntie Sharon for Sarah. And in all honesty, Sharon is as grateful as she is, that despite the hurt that had been there at the start of their reunion after _years_ of being apart, here they are, still friends and...happy, and even Sharon had to admit that she _is_ happy with the new life she’s living now. Even if it had been a life she once thought she would share with Steve, she’s still glad at how things have turned out—that a family is reunited, her old friend is happier than she had ever seen her, that somehow, _she_ has found new friends, and also finds joy in independence and her new career. She knows that their friendship won’t be like the one they had in the past, but Sharon supposes that maybe they could be better, as what they have both agreed and promised each other a while back.

“I know,” Sharon responds softly, and she smiles widely, resting a hand on Natasha’s, that’s on top of Sarah’s back. “We’ve come so far, you and me, especially you, just...seeing you so happy like this.” Sharon smiles. “I’m happy to see you happy, Nat, I really am.”

Natasha smiles, letting out a soft chuckle as she nods, and Sharon smiles widely too. “And if it makes you feel any better, or at least _for_ the record—I’m happy too,” she responds, making Natasha smile wider, especially as Sharon’s eyes begin to sparkle. “It’s...it’s a different kind of happiness than yours, different also than what I expected initially but...honestly I’m happy. And I don’t think I could trade this happiness for anything else.” She grins. “I mean, I _finally_ moved out of the on-call rooms and live in a legitimate apartment with Bobbi now, and that’s a _huge_ step for Sharon Carter—the independent life.”

Natasha laughs softly and nods. “I’m happy that we’re happy.” she says, and Sharon hums and nods.

“I’m happy that we’re happy.” she repeats.

It isn’t that long after that they _all_ eventually left, leaving Steve, Natasha and Sarah behind, and after having leftovers for dinner, Sarah lets out a yawn as she extends her arms over to Steve who chuckles and takes his little girl, placing her on his lap. The toddler snuggles further in her father’s chest, and Steve presses a soft kiss on the toddler’s hair, one hand rubbing her back soothingly.

“Looks like our little birthday princess is getting sleepy,” Steve says softly, and Natasha smiles widely and hums, watching Steve press kisses on Sarah’s hair as the girl lets out another yawn, her eyes drooping heavily. “D’you have fun on your birthday, princess?” he asks, and Sarah hums sleepily.

“Love party,” she murmurs sleepily, and Natasha laughs softly as Steve grins widely. Sarah then lifts her head and looks back at her mother and up at her father. “Love you, Mommy, Daddy.” she says softly, resting her head back on Steve’s chest.

Natasha smiles widely, getting up so she can move to the seat beside Steve, as she leans to press a soft kiss on the girl’s forehead, brushing away some of her hair gently. “We love you too, sweetheart.” she responds gently to the three-year-old (three...she _really_ just can’t believe her baby is _three_ now).

“Did you make a wish already?” Steve asks softly, pressing his lips on the toddler’s head, murmuring against her hair.

“Steve, we have to let her make another wish,” Natasha says, her eyes sparkling when Steve looks at her, and he smiles and laughs softly, remembering the same thing he had done on _her_ birthday less than a month ago. “We still have her cake, right?”

“Yeah, Laura put away some and put it in the fridge.” Steve answers softly, and Natasha gets up from her seat, walking over to the fridge as she opens it and retrieves the box that held Sarah’s birthday cake earlier. Sarah perks and hums upon seeing the cake, and Steve chuckles softly, pressing a kiss on Sarah’s head as he watches Natasha put down the box in front of her.

Steve starts to sing, a wide grin on his face. “Happy birthday to you.” Sarah giggles softly as Natasha joins in, taking out one of the candles stuck on the box of the cake to put it on top of one of the slices. “Happy birthday to you.” They both sing, and Steve leans in to take the remaining slices of cake out of the box, as Natasha retrieves a lighter. “Happy birthday, happy birthday.” Natasha lights the candle and nudges the box forward as Sarah sits up in Steve’s lap and leans forward to the cake. “Happy birthday to you.”

“Make a wish, my love,” Natasha says softly, moving to sit beside Steve and Sarah, pressing a kiss on the side of her head as the toddler turns her head and giggles, her eyes sparkling as she looks at her mother. “Happy birthday.”

Steve presses his lips on his daughter, the one arm wrapped around her tightening as Sarah takes a pause, and leaning forward, she blows the candle loudly, making Steve and Natasha laugh softly and clap as Sarah cheers. “Happy birthday, princess.” Steve says softly, pressing another kiss on Sarah’s head as Sarah laughs softly.

“What did you wish for, babe?” Natasha asks softly, brushing away the hair on Sarah’s face. “Wanna tell Mommy and Daddy what you wished for?”

Sarah hums, tilting her head to the side as if contemplating, and she nods, smiling widely as she bounces on Steve’s lap. “That...that sleep on big girl bed,” Sarah tells her mother, and Natasha laughs softly, shaking her head and pressing her lips on Sarah’s forehead. The “big girl bed” is _her_ bed, the one in her bedroom, the one where she hasn’t slept ever since she got sick when she was fifteen months old. “And, and…” she trails off, grinning widely as she looks at both her parents. “That Mommy Daddy...we go, we see Mickey Mouse!”

Steve laughs. “Wanna go to Disneyland, baby?” he asks softly, and Sarah nods excitedly. “Where’d you hear Disneyland from?”

“From friends,” Sarah responds lightly, tilting her head to the side with a huge smile on her face. “And Uncle Bucky and Auntie Wanda!” Natasha and Steve chuckle softly.

“I think our friends are conspiring against us in making sure we spend _all_ our money on our little girl.” Natasha murmurs to Steve who chuckles and nuzzles his nose on Sarah’s soft hair.

“Either way, we’d _still_ be doing it, Nat.” Steve says, raising an eyebrow as Natasha chuckles and lifts a shoulder for a light shrug.

“Touche.”

Natasha washes Sarah up and dresses her for bed, the toddler already a bit cranky and quiet now that she’s become sleepy, and even as she had earlier on wished for her to sleep on the “big girl bed”, she still clings to her mother tightly, whining and burying her face in the crook of Natasha’s neck when she’s being put down in her bedroom. Natasha chuckles, pressing a kiss on the girl’s head as she straightens up and rubs the girl’s back, looking up at Steve who smiles at his girls amusedly. “Thought you wanna sleep on the big girl bed now, baby?” Natasha asks, softly, pressing another soft kiss on her cheek as Sarah shakes her head, tightening her arms around her mother as she buries her face further in her neck.

“No, tomorrow!” Sarah murmurs, and both parents laugh softly.

“Didn’t know granted wishes can be delayed.” Steve murmurs, and Natasha laughs softly.

“Oh, hush. Our little girl just turned _three.”_ Natasha says, pressing her lips on Sarah’s hair as they head out of Sarah’s room and into Natasha’s bedroom.

They tuck the girl to bed, as Sarah hums contentedly, smiling widely when Steve presses a kiss on her forehead and Natasha brings the covers up to her chin. Sarah snuggles further, letting out a yawn as she smiles sleepily up at her parents. “We go Disneyland?” she asks softly, and Natasha lifts her eyes to look at Steve who gives her a smile and a light shrug, as Natasha chuckles softly.

“Soon, sweetie, we will,” Natasha answers softly, brushing Sarah’s hair gently as she leans to press a kiss on the girl’s cheek, tip of her nose and forehead. “Daddy and I will take you to Disneyland, okay?”

“Okay.” Sarah answers softly, letting out another yawn as she snuggles further under the covers.

Natasha smiles. “Good night and happy birthday, Sarah,” she says softly, one hand resting on the girl’s belly as the other brushes her hair gently. “Mommy and Daddy love you.”

Sarah hums, her eyes blinking heavily, soothed by Natasha brushing her fingers through her hair, her breathing becoming even, her chest rising and falling evenly. Steve and Natasha watch their daughter sleep, both of them watching lovingly, their hearts overwhelmed with so much love for this beautiful little girl, who has _his_ hair and her beauty, the one who is all the best of the both of them, their _beautiful_ gift. They wait for a few more moments, before Natasha lifts her eyes to look at Steve, who is still looking at their little girl as if in awe, a swirl of emotions present in his eyes—that of sincere awe, wonder, love and admiration, those of which that are _always_ present every time she would see him with their daughter. She sees how much he loves her, their little girl, how much he adores her and how much she knows he is willing to do _anything_ for her.

It makes her love him even more. And her mind takes her back to _months_ ago, to what one of their patients’ husband had told them way back when: _“_ _The kids help in making the love and marriage stronger, aye? Gives more reason to stay together knowing you’ve created…”._

And she also thinks back to the conversation they had a while back, when they had _finally_ decided to take a step and at least figure things out between them. He had told her that they may have made mistakes in the past, but one thing’s for sure is that _this_ little girl isn’t one of them. She then told him, and she can still remember it vividly as if she had only said it yesterday to him: _“_ _I think Sarah can help both of us heal from this.”._

Maybe she has. Maybe her little girl really _is_ helping them both heal from the mistakes of their past.

Natasha slides her hand over his, catching his attention as he looks up at her, giving her a soft and gentle smile as he holds her hand, his thumb brushing lightly at the back of hers and giving it a light squeeze. “Let’s go.” she whispers softly, and Steve nods, taking one last look at the toddler and pressing one last soft kiss on her forehead before he gets up from the bed, pulling her with him as he pulls her close, pressing a kiss on the side of her head. Natasha hums and dims the lamp on the nightstand, and hand-in-hand, they exit the room, quietly closing the door behind them.

They stand in front of the bedroom door, hands still holding each other, their eyes locked, sparkling as they smile at each other. Steve takes a step closer, wrapping an arm around Natasha’s waist and pulling her close, pressing his lips on her forehead as she hums, closing her eyes and smiling widely at the feel of his lips on her forehead. She wraps her arms around him, as if pulling him closer to her.

“Thank you,” he whispers, moving to nuzzle against her hair as she smiles, feeling his lips press on her hair. “Thank you.” he repeats softly, pressing another kiss on her head.

“For what?” she asks softly, looking up at him, reaching up to brush her fingers through his hair, and he hums contentedly, his arms around her tightening, pulling her even closer to him.

“For everything,” he responds softly, smiling down at her as he cups her face, thumb brushing her cheek gently as she smiles widely up at him. “For Sarah, for the second chance, for…” he trails off and sighs, shaking his head slightly as he smiles gently at her, his eyes bright and sparkling with love for her. “For _you._ For just...you.”

It overwhelms him—the kindness she brings, the love she has, and the forgiveness she continues to give him. It overwhelms him even until now, as never once since coming back did he ever think he had ever deserved such kindness, love and forgiveness from someone he had hurt so much, yet also someone he has loved, and continues to do so. He had asked for her forgiveness, sure, but even now as she brings it to him, it still overwhelms him. It fills him up to the brim, not at how forgivable he thinks he is, because if this were with any other woman—he’ll admit—he might never be forgiven at all. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Natasha is not just any other woman.

She is perfect—beautiful both inside and out, one with a strong, compassionate and kind heart, courageous and strong even in times of turbulence, even in times of hurt and struggle. She is forgiving, sometimes too forgiving for her own good, yet never once did she ever try to change that. She is selfless, intelligent and just...just wonderful. She is not just any other woman, and Bucky was right about that from the beginning—nobody, and absolutely nobody deserves a woman like her, not even to someone whom she had given her heart to, not him—most especially not him. Not after what he had done.

Yet here he is, on the other end of the love and forgiveness she continues to give, giving it freely to him even though he knows he doesn’t deserve it. But like what he also told Bucky, he’s willing to give everything to at least be a quarter of the man she deserves, slowly taking the steps to be that man whom she deserves.

Natasha’s eyes turn glassy, the corners of her mouth turning upwards as she smiles genuinely at him, her hands sliding up to his face, her thumbs brushing gently on his cheeks as she pulls herself closer to him. “Thank you for coming back,” she whispers, feeling a swirl of emotions stirring inside of her, tears of whatever happiness and emotions above it, filling her eyes. “Thank you for being here.”

Steve shakes his head, lifting a hand to brush her hair gently away from her face, his hand cupping her face, thumb brushing on the apple of her rosy cheek. “I should’ve been here,” he whispers, feeling the corners of his eyes sting, heart aching slightly, especially as he watches Natasha shake her head, feeling her thumbs brushing on his cheeks as in assurance. “I should’ve been here, Nat. I should’ve been here, and I’m sorry. Should’ve been here from the start—”

“No, Steve,” she says softly, yet firmly, looking at him as _imploring_ him, asking him to stop whatever he is about to say, even though these are words she deserves to hear for the rest of her life. “I know. I _know_ that, and we’re past that. We’re past that, okay? Steve—”

“Nat—” Steve attempts to interrupt softly, wanting to promise her, give her his lifetime, give her _everything_ he can, but Natasha shakes her head.

“You’re here,” she tells him firmly, her eyes glassy as she looks at him, and he sighs, swallowing down his throat as he squeezes her hip lightly. “You’re _here,_ and right now, it’s all that matters. It’s all that matters to _me,_ and it’s all that matters to Sarah. _We_ are all that matters.” She shakes her head slightly, giving him a small and reassuring smile, her thumbs brushing his cheeks gently as if in assurance, one that relaxes him as he closes his eyes and sighs, leaning towards her touch. “You’re here now. That’s the most important thing, Steve.”

 _Too good,_ Steve thinks. _She’s too good for me, always has been._

“It’s all that matters,” she repeats softly, and he opens her eyes to look at her as her gentle smile widens and he sighs, turning his head slightly to press a kiss on her palm as he takes it with his hand. “Us starting over, as a family this time.” She shakes her head slightly, looking at him. “It’s all that matters.”

 _Us starting over._ Steve gives her hand a light squeeze as he looks back at her, and she swallows down her throat, her mouth open slightly as she looks at him imploringly, as if convincing him to believe her, even if it’s _one_ thing he’s still having a hard time believing for himself. _Us starting over,_ she said—a new beginning, a clean slate, one he’d wished from her, but now is being given to him.

Steve sighs, leaning down and closing his eyes to rest his forehead against hers, and she lets out a sigh, closing her eyes as she pulls him closer towards her. _She’s too good,_ he still thinks. _Too good, too perfect—this woman who deserves it all._

And then he thinks. She deserves it all, even a _fresh_ start, like what she said, a _fresh_ start where, this time, he’ll do it right. He’ll do things right, _be_ the right one for her.

Steve lifts his head slightly, pressing his lips on the spot in the middle of her eyebrows as he pulls away slightly, opening his eyes as he meets hers, and he gives her a gentle smile. He brushes his fingers through her hair, and she leans towards his touch. “A fresh start,” he says softly, and Natasha tilts her head to the side, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion as his smile widens, his thumb brushing over her cheek. “A fresh start. We’ll have a fresh start.” he says.

Natasha narrows her eyes slightly, the corner of her mouth turning up slightly as if amused, especially as Steve leans in to press another kiss on her forehead. “What…” she trails off, shaking her head slightly and letting out a soft chuckle. Steve grins, making Natasha’s smile widen as she looks up at him.

“A fresh start,” he repeats softly, and he slowly pulls away from her, taking a step back as he takes her hands in his, not letting go even as he takes another step back. Natasha stays put where she is, still shaking her head as she lets out a soft chuckle. “We’ll have that. We’ll have a fresh start.”

“What...what do you mean?” she asks, shaking her head in both confusion and amusement. Steve squeezes her hands in assurance, even as he takes another step back, their arms now straightening in front of them, until he finally lets go of one of her hands, and then another.

“Do you remember how we first met?” Steve asks softly, tucking his hands in the pockets of his jeans, and Natasha smiles widely, tilting her head to the side as she looks at him. “Do you remember that day?”

Of course she does. She remembers _every_ bit of it, the memory of it so fresh as if it was only yesterday when it happened. She remembers it so vividly that she’s always able to tell Sarah the _same_ story over and over again should the little girl request for a bedtime story, should Natasha ever _feel_ like telling it if only to remember the best parts of her relationship with him.

“Of course I do,” she responds softly, and Steve smiles widely. “It’s one of Sarah’s favorite stories.” Steve nods.

“Mine too,” he says softly, and Natasha smiles at him. She lets out a soft chuckle, especially as she watches Steve walk over to the middle of the living room, a few meters away from her as she turns towards him, and he faces her. There is a wide smile on his face, one he can’t wipe off, especially as even _he_ starts to remember that day so vividly in his head. Natasha fumbles with her fingers, biting her bottom lip as she watches him expectantly, a small smile forming in her mouth. “I don’t know if you know this but it’s a common mistake within the people in the hospital, that they think we first met in the hospital—when you were a resident, and I was the fresh fellow.”

She smiles widely, letting out a soft laugh as she nods, because she _does_ know about that. She knows about how, whenever they used to tell people how they first got together, how they first met, they would be surprised to discover that it’s not because they were co-workers. “Well, they’re not _technically_ completely wrong.” she says, and Steve chuckles, nodding his head.

“That’s true,” he responds softly with a gentle smile. “We met at Tony’s party, remember? He had lots of people come over at his father’s place, including _me,_ even though it was the first time we’ve met since I just happened to be a new attending during that time. You were always under Banner’s service, or Hunter’s, so even if I had been an attending at that time...I’ve never met you.” He smiles. “And you’ve never met me.”

* * *

_“Rogers, Rogers!” Steve turned away from a group of people—not really remembering whether they’re a class of residents or attendings from the hospital, or merely just a random group of people—upon hearing Tony’s slurred and drunken call. He expected to come face-to-face with the plastics surgeon, bringing with him another random girl to be introduced to Steve, just like how he did for the last few hours he had been at the party, upon Tony hearing his fresh breakup from his ex._

_“I’d like you to meet someone,” Tony said, a wide smile on his face, and Steve sighed, noticing that there was indeed a woman beside Tony, but not really flickering his eyes away from his new “friend”—though it might have been pushing it considering how Steve was slowly getting tired of his efforts of shoving every girl in the party in his direction. “I’d like you to meet...her.”_

_Steve released a breath, but it was only then that he cast his eyes on her, a beautiful redheaded woman with creamy skin and rosy cheeks and bright green eyes. She looked up at him, an eyebrow raised as she gave him a smile—the most beautiful one he’d ever seen that night, that sent his heart beating so fast, leaping at the beauty she had, at the smile she gave him._

_It was a normal smile, perhaps, and he would later come to know that it was her normal smile, that she had more beautiful smiles reserved only for the people she loved—apparently, including him._

_“And you...I’d like you to meet him,” Tony said, his words slurring together, but Steve almost paid no attention to him, his eyes caught in the girl’s bright green ones, so captivating and sparkling, her stare not leaving his. He barely heard Tony scoff, and with all the remaining sobriety and bodily function he had, he grabbed his hand and hers, linking their hands together in a handshake as she chuckled in surprise, making him smile widely as he shook her hand firmly. “Her and him...she and he...whatever you talk, okay bye bye.” He gave Steve a pat on the shoulder and gave her a wink as he scurried off, being carried away by other people in his party._

_He turned back at her, minding how soft her hand was in his, and he smiled. “What’s your name?” he asked, and the woman smiled widely._

* * *

Natasha laughs, her eyes sparkling as she remembers it again. “I said I’m _Her,”_ she says, and Steve chuckles as he nods, letting out a small laugh as well. “When you asked me what my name was, I told you I was _Her,_ because it’s what Tony introduced me to be.”

Steve nods. “And I told you I was _Him,”_ he continues, and she laughs softly, nodding. “And I wouldn’t tell you my name because you wouldn’t tell me yours.”

* * *

_“It’s a secret,” she said, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him when he once again asked for her name. “You won’t know me. You won’t ever know me.”_

_“Oh, well that’s a bummer,” he said with a shrug, watching as she chuckles and takes a sip from her cup of drink. “Would’ve loved to know such a lovely woman’s name.”_

_She smiled widely, chuckling as she shook her head, putting her cup down on the bar counter, completely facing him. “Are you flirting with me, Rogers?” she asked, the corner of her mouth turning up into a smirk, and Steve furrows his eyebrows at her._

_“How did…” he trailed off, and shook her head, letting out a chuckle as he shook his head. “Now that’s unfair.”_

_“Not unfair. Stark’s been screaming your name since the evening started, when he kept on shoving girls in your direction but you kept on rejecting ‘em,” she said, and she smirked and tilted her head to the side. “What made you not reject me?” Steve chuckled._

_“Now you’re just phishing.” he teased, which was honestly very uncharacteristic of him the entire night—or his entire dating lifetime—but whatever. He liked it, he liked the teasing, and he liked her. She grinned widely, understanding the tease, her perfect white teeth showing, and she chuckled._

_“That’s unfair, you don’t call out women on such things, Mister Rogers,” she purred, her voice sending a pool of heat down his stomach that he had to swallow—the act itself not escaping the woman’s attention as her smirk widened, and she looked away from him, taking a sip from her drink. “You should know how to please a woman. I could be the love of your life, for all you know.” she told him._

_Steve chuckled, shaking his head and ignoring the leap inside his heart as he took a sip from his own drink. “I would love to, but I don’t even know your name.” he told her, and she smirked and lifted a shoulder to a small shrug._

_“Doesn’t stop you from being here, does it?” she asked, and Steve smiled, letting out a soft chuckle as he ducked his head almost shyly and she grinned. “So what is it? That you love about me?”_

_Steve chuckled. “Love about you?” he asked. She shrugged again._

_“Told you—I could be the love of your life,” she said, and she batted her eyelashes at him as she downed the remainder of her drink. She let out a sigh, and she looked back at him through her eyelashes, a small smirk playing on her lips. “Let’s hear ‘em, Rogers.” she said._

* * *

“And I told you you had beautiful eyes— _no,_ that I _loved_ your eyes,” he continues softly, making Natasha giggle softly, remembering the exact words he said to her that night—one of the lines she would _never_ forget coming from him during their first meeting. Steve chuckles, as he takes one step forward towards her. “And then I got nervous, because I didn’t want you to think your eyes were the only beautiful ones about you.” He smiles widely, his cheeks blushing slightly as he remembers that moment. “So I kinda started rambling.”

* * *

_“I-I mean...I wasn’t saying your eyes were the only beautiful thing about you,” he started rambling, eyes wide, especially as he started watching her laugh and shake her head, not really certain whether she’s laughing at him, or if she’s amused or whatever. “Y-you’re beautiful, very beautiful. But I don’t...I-I don't mean it in...in a creepy way, I…” He sighed, and she wouldn’t stop laughing, and in his momentary panic, he failed to see the faint blush growing on her cheeks. “You’re very beautiful. Your face is very beautiful, y-you are beautiful—”_

* * *

“And you wouldn’t stop,” Natasha laughs, shaking her head fondly as Steve laughs and nods, taking another step towards her as she smiles widely at him. “You couldn’t take a clue—I was already flattered enough knowing that you already said you loved my eyes and found them beautiful.”

“You made me _really_ nervous that night.” he says softly, chuckling, and Natasha laughs.

“I know,” she tells him softly, and this time, she takes a step forward towards him, aching to be _near_ him, to be held by him and feel his hand in hers. “But you kinda made it up, though I didn’t give you the chance to talk much.”

Steve blushes furiously, vividly remembering the events that had happened after their brief conversation, one that ended up with the two of them completely disappearing from Tony’s party for a while, ending up in Steve’s car, and eventually reappearing in the party—only _this_ time with disheveled hairs, red lipstick marks on Steve’s neck, missed buttons and hickeys on Natasha’s neck and chest area. (She eliminates this part, of course, when she tells the story to Sarah—skipping this and moving fast forward to the better parts, the _best_ parts, in her opinion.)

Natasha laughs fondly and amusedly, watching Steve blush at the prompt of the events that happened after their brief meeting. Because _this_ man had already practically seen her naked, slept with her multiple times, fathered her child, yet the _thought_ of their first hookup _years_ back still manages to make him blush like he had the first time.

“I kept on telling myself if I’d known you were a resident over at SHIELD, I would’ve done a proper way of introducing myself to you,” he tells her with a soft chuckle, and she hums, smiling widely at him. He takes another step towards her, his gaze locked with hers. “And I remember I kept on telling myself if I’d known you’d be _the_ love of my life, especially the following day after the party, I probably would’ve acted quicker.” He pauses, then he smiles sheepishly at her. “I probably would’ve kissed you sober _way_ sooner than I did.”

_Probably would’ve done it there and then—knowing she was it, she was the right one._

Natasha chuckles softly and nods. “And I probably should’ve said _yes_ sooner, the first ever time you asked me out on a date,” she says softly. _Probably would've bought us more time, buy myself more time,_ she thinks, but she quickly shrugs the thought away, as she lifts one shoulder to a shrug. Now is not the time to think of such things, not anymore, not when here their time is being bought back again. “But I still like how it went. I like how _we_ happened: an extraordinary start to an extraordinary love story.”

“An extraordinary start to an extraordinary love story,” he repeats softly, and she smiles widely as he lifts a shoulder to a shrug and he nods. “You’re right, probably wouldn’t have it any other way.”

* * *

_“I didn’t know you were a doctor,” he said, his eyebrows furrowing as he looked at the woman—no, the resident, assigned under his service. It was the first time he’d seen her in here (though obviously not the first he'd seen her), yet by the looks of her, she’d been here obviously longer than he had. She smirked amusedly up at him, raising an eyebrow and tilting her head to the side—the marks he had put on her neck (he’d put that on her!) faint yet still evident. “Nor did I know you work here.”_

_She grinned and shrugged. “Did I not look so respectable as a doctor last night?” she asked, and Steve’s eyes widened, as he shook his head firmly._

_“N-no, I-I didn’t mean...I didn’t say that, I will never say that about you,” he stammered, and she laughed, and he took a moment of pause and he sighed and shook his head, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smirk. “You like making me speechless, don’t you?”_

_She laughed lightly. “It’s cute,” she told him, and he felt his cheeks warm that he ducked his head as quickly as he could as she smiled widely, obviously seeing the effect of her words on him. “You have quite the reputation ‘round here, since people talk about you a lot especially when you came in. Seemed like they knew you even when you were a resident, said you were always so focused and almost uptight.” She chuckled. “Lucky for me, I know you beyond the rigidness of your work ethics, Doctor Rogers. I know you too well, especially under that white coat you wear.”_

_Steve chuckled and shook his head, trying to ignore the rising heat climbing in his cheeks at her subtle reference to their night last night. “Quite a dangerous privilege you have there,” he said, and she hummed, smiling at him. “You’re not Her.” he pointed out, and she shook her head._

_“And you’re not Him,” she said, smiling widely, her eyes sparkling as she looked at him. “But I could still probably be the love of your life.” Steve laughed softly at that shook his head fondly, feeling his heart skipping a beat inside his chest._

_"Is it 'cause if it were any other resident, I'd walk away, but with you I'd stay?" he asked, recalling their conversation the previous night and she hummed, smirking as she caught the reference._

_"No, it's 'cause you love my eyes," she responded, her smirk widening as he laughed softly. "And the rest of my face, if I remember you stammering that correctly." Steve chuckled and shook this head._

_“Then I wouldn't be so against it, you being the love of my life," he responded, and he lifted a shoulder for a small shrug. "That is, once I’d know your name.” he said, and she let out a soft chuckle._

_“You say yours first,” she told him softly and teasingly. “Since it’s not like you’ve officially introduced yourself to me either.”_

* * *

Steve takes another step, the distance between them only at an arm’s length, and he extends his hand at her, while Natasha smiles as she looks at his hand. “I’m Steve Rogers. Doctor Steve Rogers.” he says softly, as if introducing himself to her all over again, like how he did all those years ago.

_“Steve Rogers,” he said, extending his hand over towards her. “Doctor Steve Rogers.”_

Natasha takes his hand firmly, and she shakes it, like how she did the first time, like how they officially met the first time. “Natasha Romanoff,” she says softly. “Doctor Natasha Romanoff.” she says, grinning widely as she looks into his bright sparkling eyes, sparkling the way it had the first time she had _finally_ told him her name—it was a sparkle of adoration, of _wonder,_ perhaps, one that eventually translated into love not long after.

_“Natasha Romanoff,” she replied, shaking his hand firmly, a small smile playing on her lips. “Doctor Natasha Romanoff.”_

Steve smiles widely, and Natasha laughs softly, especially as Steve takes another step towards her, and _she_ takes a step closer towards him. He lifts a hand to brush her hair gently, one arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her close, the other cupping her face, thumb brushing gently on her cheek. She wraps her arms around his neck, smiling widely, her eyes flickering from his eyes to his lips, the same way his eyes focus from her eyes to her lips.

_I kept on telling myself if I’d known you’d be the love of my life, especially the following day after the party, I probably would’ve acted quicker._

There were no other words needed, nothing more to be said. _This_ is what he thought he should've done years back, if only he knew that she would be the ultimate love of his life. _This_ is what he had wanted to do, if only to buy themselves more time, if only to make things a little bit different, make things a little easier. But like she said, there was no other way he would've loved their story to start—two strangers, known to each other as Him and Her, not knowing when fate would ever pull them back, or if they were ever _meant_ to be pulled back, after that one night they spent together. Yet somehow they were pulled back perhaps by fate, just as quickly as they were put together that previous evening.

It had been a different story, one they would always remember, one they would always hold dear. Now it's time to remake _another_ story.

There were no more words needed between them, especially as they inched closer together, holding each other tighter and pulling each other closer. His eyes flicker down her lips, just as her eyes look at his, before looking back up at his eyes. She watches as he closes his eyes, leaning down towards her as she leans up, closing their eyes once their lips meet halfway, meeting into a soft and gentle kiss—the moment so magical and _right,_ as they were brought back to the first ever time they kissed. He feels her smile against his mouth, and he starts deepening their kiss, eliciting a muffled groan from her, as he holds her tight against him, and she pulls him closer towards her.

They pull away after a few breathless moments, catching their breaths, their foreheads resting against each other. Their eyes are closed, but they still both smile, especially as she leans up and presses a chaste kiss on his lips, and he kisses her back again. She chuckles softly, smiling widely, feeling her heart leaping inside her chest as he presses another kiss on her lips, like he can’t get enough, like he can _never_ get enough.

And to be fair, neither can she.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's a super great relief to be able to write a bit of fluff again :') lmk what you guys think (and also pls do be kind hehe). hope you guys are also safe always!


	17. Moving In and Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, here's a chapter full of fluff and stevenat (a full 12k-word chapter of fluff), so yay! hope you guys enjoy and hope everyone stays safe wherever they are!

Bobbi turns her head from Natasha and straight ahead, and she smiles widely, nudging her friend beside her with her elbow. “Straight ahead.” she says, and Natasha raises an eyebrow, her eyes and attention flickering from Bobbi to Steve and Sarah by the nurse’s station. She feels her heart flutter, her heart leaping inside her chest, especially when she hears Sarah squeal, and eventually wiggle in her father’s arms to be put down, only to run towards her and Bobbi’s direction. Natasha laughs and scoops the girl up, pressing kisses all over the toddler’s face as the three-year-old giggles, wrapping her arms around her neck and resting her head on her shoulder.

“First night with just Sarah and her Dad?” Bobbi asks, smoothing Sarah’s back as the toddler lifts her head and smiles brightly at her Auntie Bobbi as Bobbi smiles, leaning over to rub her nose against the toddler’s as Sarah scrunches her nose and giggles. Natasha grins and nods at her friend.

“First night, and it’s also the first time Steve will be spending the night over at my place,” she says, and Bobbi raises her eyebrows in surprise. Steve walks over to them, smiling at Bobbi as he rests a hand on the small of Natasha’s back, leaning to press a kiss on Sarah’s head. “Although it’s obviously not the first time he’d _been_ at my place, and he practically knows my place better than I do already.” Steve chuckles and nods in agreement.

“I’m getting the hang of the whole place,” he says softly, running his hand on her back, and Natasha hums, smiling as she looks up at him. “Although it would be my first time to spend the night there, and for more, it’s a night without _you._ It’s not weird, is it?” he asks, almost sheepishly and Natasha laughs and shakes her head.

“It’s fine,” she tells him softly. “It’d be easier, we figured? Since the apartment is basically Sarah’s territory, and all her stuff are there, and you know your way around.” Natasha says, and Steve nods, because he _does._ They have gone through the entirety of Sarah’s morning and evening routines, complete with a full tour in Natasha’s part to show where the important stuff are so he wouldn’t get too lost, and to also show him her bedroom, where she had insisted he would sleep instead of the couch (where _he_ insisted).

And besides, they’re already _together_ again—have been for two weeks already. It shouldn’t be _that_ weird for him to sleep on her bed when they have done things _way_ beyond that together (thus, Sarah).

“You mean you still _live_ in separate apartments?” Bobbi asks, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion as both Steve and Natasha nod. “Okay, that’s just _sussy_ right there.” she says with a chuckle, and Natasha raises an eyebrow at her friend. “I would’ve thought you’d be like...I don’t know, _moved in_ together or something, with the way you always get here together every morning and leave together at night.”

“Well, we’ve...we’ve talked about it,” Steve says quietly, his eyes flickering over to Natasha who nods. _Once,_ they’ve talked about it _once_ in passing, and it was just the other night when they had been too groggy and sleepy to proceed and Steve had to drive himself back home that they had to cut the night short with a long kiss and short goodbyes. They never spoke of it again. “And...and we _will,_ of course, but it’s…” he trails off, looking at Natasha, whose eyes widen as she tries to grasp for an answer herself.

“I-It’s...it’s just, you know,” she says with a shrug and a slight shake of her head. “Life...schedule...night shifts like this one.” she says, and Bobbi chuckles in amusement, as she crosses her arms over her chest and looks back and forth between the two. “But we _will.”_ Natasha says firmly, looking up at Steve, as if in confirmation and he nods. “We _will_ move in together, of course.”

Bobbi chuckles and raises her hands up in surrender. “Alright, I’m just _saying,_ you gave me the impression that you’re already moved in, but there’s no pressure,” she says in amusement, and Steve chuckles softly, pressing his lips on Natasha’s head as Natasha smiles, humming and leaning towards Steve’s touch. “Although I expect a housewarming party should you get a new apartment for the three of you.”

“We have _two_ to choose from now, and now you want to add _another_ one on the options?” Natasha asks teasingly, and Bobbi laughs, shaking her head.

“I’m just saying,” she says with a laugh. She looks down at her watch and sighs. “Okay. Go on and say your goodbyes or whatever. Nat, I’ll meet you in O.R. 2?” she asks. _For their surgery,_ the main reason why Natasha is staying behind in the hospital instead of going home with her favorite people. Natasha nods, and Bobbi hums. “Better prep then.” She smiles and leans forward to press a kiss on Sarah’s forehead, and the toddler hums and smiles widely. “‘Night, Sarah.”

“Night, Auntie Bobbi.” she responds softly, and Bobbi looks up at Steve, giving him a nod.

“I’ll take care of Nat tonight, don’t worry.” she says with a wink, and Steve chuckles softly with a nod.

“Much appreciated, thank you.” he responds, and Bobbi gives them one last smile before she walks past them, leaving the family behind in the middle of the hallway.

Natasha hums and presses a kiss on Sarah’s head as the toddler tightens her hold around her mother’s neck. “Mommy you stay here?” she asks softly, and smooths the toddler’s back, closing her eyes as she presses her lips on the side of her head.

“Yeah, babe,” she responds softly, pulling away slightly to look at her daughter in the eyes and she smiles gently at her. “Remember what we talked about? Daddy’s gonna stay with you at home, okay? He’s gonna watch over you while Mommy’s still here in the hospital.” Natasha says, tugging the toddler’s jacket closer to her, pulling down her sweater and smoothing her rosy cheek with her thumb gently. Sarah hums and nods, looking up at her father with a wide smile as Steve chuckles softly, running his fingers through the girl’s soft hair.

“Don’t worry, we have the whole day tomorrow,” Steve says, his eyes flickering from Sarah to Natasha. “We’ll pick you up tomorrow after your shift? Bring you breakfast, stay at home for a while so you can catch a nap then the park?” he asks, because it’s what they’ve talked about and agreed on. Natasha may be having an overnight shift tonight, but she supposes she’s lucky enough to have tomorrow as a day-off with Steve, and the both of them can spend time with Sarah, maybe go outside and have fun in the snow as it had just started snowing two days ago.

“Yes, please,” Natasha responds softly, and Steve hums, leaning down to press a chaste kiss on Natasha’s lips. “Love you.” Natasha tells him, pressing another kiss on his lips as Steve smiles.

“I love you.” he tells her, a bright and gentle smile on his face.

It’s surely not the first time he’s said it, not in since they _first_ got together all those years back, and not even since they had gotten back together on the night of Sarah’s birthday two weeks ago. She’s heard him say it over and over again for the last two weeks ago, in breathless moments after they would kiss, and even in lax moments where he would just out-of-the-blue tell her he loves her. Yet she feels like no matter how many times he would tell her so, the effect on her will forever stay the same—as if she’s heard it for the first time, and her heart would wildly flutter and leap inside her chest upon hearing him say it. She feels like that young resident all over again whenever she would hear him say it, that resident who’s so madly in love with this hotshot heart surgeon who had captured _her_ heart and kept it for himself.

She silently hopes it would _forever_ stay that way, that she will never get tired of hearing it, the same way _he_ will never get tired of saying it as well.

Sarah hums and looks back at her mother, her eyes bright and shining, her smile wide as she looks expectantly at her mother. Natasha chuckles, pressing a soft kiss on Sarah’s cheek, and on her forehead, and on the tip of her nose. “I’ll see you tomorrow, my love,” she says softly, pressing her lips on Sarah’s hair, and she inhales the familiar scent of her daughter—of lavender, vanilla and milk, that would always be fresh on her no matter the time of day. “I love you. I love you so much.” she murmurs against the girl’s hair.

Sarah giggles softly, and she presses a sloppy and loud kiss on Natasha’s cheek. “Love you, Mommy.” she says softly, and Natasha hums, nuzzling her nose in her daughter’s hair, closing her eyes and allowing herself a moment of just snuggling her baby close to her. She smiles widely, feeling Steve pull them closer to his chest, where she feels him pressing his lips on her head.

It’s a brief moment of serenity, a sweet and intimate one where it’s just the three of them huddled together as a family. And Natasha supposes that it’s also a moment where she feels as if everything in her life had just fallen back into place—where her family is finally reunited once again, where she is able to shun the small voices in the back of her head, threatening to pull her away from this moment and drag her to the memories of a past that, while it’s not at all completely forgotten, it’s nonetheless forgiven. It’s a moment where she feels most at peace, in the arms of the man she loves (and she can say that so freely and painlessly now—that she _loves_ him, and she knows that he loves her back all the same, and possibly even more), and holding the little girl they have both created out of that love.

It isn’t the first time as well that they’ve had this sweet and tender moment, where it’s just the three of them huddled together, snuggled close to each other. For the past two weeks, they never failed to have moments like these, whether it be in the hospital or in the confines of Natasha’s apartment. Yet for Natasha it would _always,_ always feel like she’s experiencing all of it the first time—her stomach fluttering at his warm embrace, the corners of her mouth automatically quirking upwards into a wide smile and the peace that comes with the coziness of the snuggles.

It feels right. It feels like _home._

Despite her body somehow protesting, she pulls away from the embrace, giving Sarah one last kiss on the cheek before transferring the toddler to Steve, who takes the girl in his arms, smiling as he presses a soft kiss on her forehead. Natasha smooths down her scrubs and coat, and she looks back up to meet Steve’s bright and sparkling eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” he says softly, and Natasha nods, leaning as Steve pulls her close once again to press a kiss on her forehead, then down to her lips.

“Text me once you’re home.” _Home,_ and she said it as if it’s always been _his_ home too. But Steve just nods, giving her a gentle smile before he adjusts his bag on his shoulder, and he turns away from Natasha who sighs as she watches them go, tucking her hands in the pockets of her coats.

“Bye, Mommy!” Sarah calls out, and Steve chuckles, turning his head for a bit to watch Natasha laugh and wave at the both of them. Steve grins, rubbing his hand on the toddler’s back as she hums and rests her head on his shoulder, her arms wrapping around her father’s neck.

It’s a cold winter night outside, and Steve shivers at the feel of a cold wind passing by them as they exit the hospital. Sarah shivers in his arms, and Steve pauses in his tracks for a moment to pull Sarah’s coat closer to her body. He opens his bag with his free hand, easily pulling out Sarah’s bonnet and putting it over the girl’s head gently with his one free hand. “You okay, baby?” he asks gently, as he allows Sarah to fix the bonnet over her head and her ears. The toddler hums and nods.

“Daddy, hat.” Sarah says softly, reaching up to tap her hand over Steve’s head. Steve chuckles softly and shakes his head. It _is_ cold outside, but it’s not too cold that he couldn’t handle it. And besides, they’re only crossing a few meters to his car, anyway, so it wouldn’t be too cold for long.

“‘S okay,” Steve responds softly, pressing his lips on his daughter’s rosy cheek, as he proceeds to walk over to the parking lot. “We’re gonna be warm soon.”

Upon reaching his car, Steve unlocks the back door, placing his bag first inside before he leans down to sit Sarah on her car seat. Sarah wiggles her legs, smiling up at her father as Steve buckles her securely. “We’re gonna buy some dinner, okay?” he asks softly, after securing the last belt on the car seat. He then meets his little girl’s eyes, and gives her a soft smile. “D’you have any requests, little one?” he asks, tickling the toddler on her stomach as she giggles, squirming away from her father’s touch as Steve chuckles.

“Nuggies!” she answers, and Steve laughs. _Of course, nuggets._ “Nuggies and fries, please.”

“Okay,” Steve responds with a soft chuckle. “And some hot cocoa when we get home?” he asks, and Sarah smiles brightly, nodding excitedly and enthusiastically.

“Yes, yes!” Sarah cheers, and Steve hums, leaning to press a kiss on the toddler’s forehead, making sure all the belts are buckled and secured before he straightens himself, closing the door and opening the driver’s seat to let himself in. He lets out a sigh, rubbing his two hands together to keep himself warm, and turns the engine on. He turns the heater on, making sure the warm air reaches Sarah before he pulls out of the parking lot, and proceeds to the main road.

He turns the radio on, smiling widely when Sarah cheers upon hearing their usual Disney tracks. They both sing along to the Hercules soundtrack, as Steve keeps his eyes on the road, making sure he makes a McDonald’s drive thru first before he starts driving to Natasha’s apartment building. He orders Sarah’s usual order—chicken nuggets and fries, and he orders a burger for himself with some fries as well.

“Daddy, fries?” Sarah asks from the back, and Steve chuckles softly.

“Yeah, baby, I got one for each of us,” he says, and he turns to look back at his daughter. “Don’t tell Mommy, okay?”

Because Natasha would be _against_ giving Sarah her own pack of fries, but Steve figures he could at least treat his little girl just for tonight, with her own pack of fries to enjoy. Sarah giggles, thrilled to be part of a secret only she and her Daddy would share. “Okay.” she answers softly, and Steve grins widely, looking back at the order window to retrieve his order, putting it on the front seat before he rolls the window back up, turning to drive to the apartment.

He parks by the curb, right in front of Natasha’s car. “We’re home.” he announces, opening the door to let himself out. He opens the door to the backseat, unbuckling Sarah from her seat and lifting her out so she is standing right beside her father. The little girl shivers, and Steve reaches for his duffle bag with all his things, swiftly putting it over his shoulder before he goes to retrieve the McDonald’s orders. He locks the car, and reaches out to Sarah’s extended hand towards him, and they both enter the apartment building.

Sarah skips over to the elevator, and Steve chuckles as he does his best to juggle the McDonald’s order and his bag. The toddler looks up at him expectantly, waiting in front of the elevator so he could press the up button for the both of them, and she hums, smiling widely once Steve does. “Daddy, when I become tall to press button?” she asks, and Steve laughs softly as he looks down at his little girl.

“Well, maybe when you become a big girl,” he responds softly, and Sarah smiles brightly as Steve chuckles. “Which I hope is not _too_ soon. You’re still my and Mommy’s baby girl.”

Sarah frowns and pouts, shaking her head stubbornly. “Already a big girl,” she says, and Steve hums, looking up as the elevator doors open, and he allows Sarah to step inside the elevator first. He presses the button to Natasha’s floor, and once the doors close, he crouches down in front of his daughter as Sarah’s pout deepens. “Already sleep on big girl bed.” she murmurs, and Steve smiles.

So he’s witnessed. Two weeks ago, Sarah had wished for her to sleep on her “big girl bed”, the bed inside her own room beside Natasha’s, and she’s started sleeping on it the night after her third birthday. So whenever both Steve and Natasha would tuck their daughter to bed, they wouldn’t proceed to Natasha’s bedroom but rather to Sarah’s little room, tucking her in her newly-cleaned and fresh bed with brand new sheets Steve had bought that same week as a surprise for their little girl—those pink sheets printed with mermaids, and some with butterflies, as Natasha had been careful to tell him when he had talked about buying bed sheets, pillow covers and comforters for her.

Steve chuckles softly, lifting one hand to smooth the girl’s cheek gently. “You _are_ a big girl,” he relents softly, and Sarah smiles brightly at her father. “But to me and Mommy, you’re still our baby.” he adds, leaning to press a soft kiss on the tip of Sarah’s nose as the toddler giggles, bouncing on her feet as Steve grins widely at her.

 _A little Natasha,_ he thinks, and he smiles as he continues to wish that she would _forever_ be as such—a little Natasha who has her heart, her wit, her mind and her pure soul. Steve presses another kiss on her rosy cheek as the elevator doors open and he straightens himself, taking Sarah’s small hand in his as they walk to the hallway to Natasha’s apartment. He releases the toddler’s hand, fishes for the keys Natasha had given him earlier today in his coat, and pushes the door open, flicking the light switches on as Sarah skips her way inside, flopping down on the couch as Steve chuckles, closing the door behind him.

“Sarah, can you take off your coat and hat, please?” he calls to his daughter. Sarah wiggles her way down the couch as Steve proceeds to put their dinner on the kitchen counter. He pulls out his phone, sends Natasha a quick text that they’re in her apartment already, and he watches as Sarah takes off her bonnet and her small coat, walking over to her father and handing both to him. He takes them, lifts Sarah to her seat as he proceeds to hang his coat, along with Sarah’s, on the coat hanger.

“You hungry, babe?” Steve asks, walking over to the dining area to retrieve Sarah’s plate and utensils, putting it in front of the toddler. “We’ll get the hot cocoa later, okay? After we finish dinner, I’ll make some hot cocoa.” he says softly, opening the box of nuggets and pouring it on the plate as Sarah grabs her utensils and bounces in her seat as she nods.

“Movie too?” she asks, her eyes sparkling as she looks up at her father. “Movie and cocoa?” she asks, and Steve hums and nods.

“Sure, sweetie,” he responds, pouring her own fries as well on the toddler’s plate as Sarah squeals excitedly. Steve laughs and presses a kiss on the girl’s head. “But we have to wash up first, okay? Brush teeth, wash up, put on PJs and then we can watch a movie. Sound good?”

Sarah hums and nods, and Steve smiles as he takes a seat beside Sarah, who starts munching on her chicken nuggets already. “D’you get nuggies too, Daddy?” she asks, and Steve shakes his head, pulling out his box of burger as Sarah’s eyes widen, as if amazed at seeing the box of burger from the paperbag. “Burger! D’you have fries too?” she asks, tilting her head to the side.

“I do,” Steve responds softly, pulling out his own pack of fries as Sarah hums, taking a piece and eating it. “We both have our own fries, you see? But don’t tell Mommy, okay?” he asks, lowering his voice as if Natasha will hear it, and Sarah giggles softly, nodding.

“Daddy, why Mommy doesn’t like...having own fries?” she asks softly, and Steve pauses for a moment, taking a piece of fry and eating it while he thinks.

“Well, because it’s a _little_ unhealthy,” he says, and _okay,_ it’s _really_ unhealthy, but saying so might scare the little girl, he supposes. “And eating so many french fries will be bad, especially for little kids.” he answers, and Sarah blinks, munching another french fry as she doesn’t take her eyes off of her father.

“But if bad...why taste good?” she asks, and Steve imagines that if it were a normal adult asking this, it would be one of the funniest and most overrated punchlines there could be, but as he looks at the little girl’s wide and inquisitive eyes, he stifles his laughter at the mere realization that his little girl is actually _serious._

And it’s honestly a legitimate question, really, somehow could be taken as a question for moral philosophers—asking why is the bad more appealing than the good, and all that, but he supposes that _now_ is not the time for him to teach his kid about any sort of morality. He can do so in another time when they’re _not_ enjoying a plate of fries for each.

“Because potatoes always taste good, and french fries are made of potatoes,” Steve responds. “But too much potatoes can be bad, because if we eat _lots_ of potatoes, we might run out of it, so we shouldn’t eat too much.” Sarah’s eyes widen slightly and worriedly.

“No more potatoes?” she asks quietly, and Steve nods.

“We need to save potatoes,” he says with a serious nod, and Sarah pouts slightly. “Which is why we only get _one_ chance in eating lots of french fries, and the next time we do, we have to eat a little less to save the potatoes.”

“I don’t want...no more potatoes,” Sarah says softly, ironically as she munches another french fry. “Mommy loves potatoes too?” she asks, tilting her head to the side as Steve hums and nods with a smile.

“She _loves_ potatoes—french fries, especially,” Steve responds, and Sarah smiles as she continues to munch on her dinner. Steve smiles widely, and he lets out a soft chuckle. “D’you know one of Mommy’s favorite food is french fries?” he asks, and Sarah gasps.

“Mommy love fries?” she asks, and Steve laughs as he nods.

“She loves fries _so_ much,” he says softly. “When Mommy and I used to go out on dates way before, we would always make sure to order fries—one for me and one for her. And when she would finish hers up more quickly than me, she would steal fries from my plate.” Sarah laughs, and Steve smiles widely, his heart fluttering at the sound of his daughter’s laughter. “Maybe that’s why she doesn’t like giving you too much fries, because she almost finished up all the potatoes by herself.”

“Mommy finishing potatoes,” Sarah giggles, and she tilts her head slightly to the side. “What food you love, Daddy?” she asks.

Steve hums, contemplating for a while. “I love mac and cheese,” he responds, and Sarah perks up, raising her eyebrows, her smile widening. “And I love fries too, and I also like ice cream and milkshake—especially the chocolate-flavored ones.”

They spend dinner like that—just Sarah asking Steve questions about his favorite things: food, color, Disney princess, Disney movie, Disney song, and Steve patiently answering each one. He doesn’t need to ask the little girl these questions though, because she answers after he does, even though they are things he already knows about his daughter. She also asks what Natasha’s favorite things are—her favorite food, color, Disney princess, movie and song, and somehow _she_ also has answers for Natasha’s favorite things, as if the toddler is quizzing Steve on what Natasha’s favorite things are, and Sarah has the final say on the correct answer. (She claims that Natasha’s favorite color is pink too, just like her, but Steve knows for a fact that Natasha shows a certain disdain for the color pink, and prefers red better, but he doesn’t tell the little girl that.)

Steve helps the little girl wash up and dress in her pyjamas, all while the toddler excitedly reminds her father about the hot cocoa he promised to make for her while they watch a movie. He sits Sarah down on her seat in the kitchen counter while he alternates between making the hot cocoa and cleaning up after dinner. He listens as the toddler babbles about her friends in daycare, about the games they played and stories she’s heard from them. He’s beginning to memorize her friends’ names, too, which he thinks is good, as he’s met them every time they eat lunch in daycare, and of course, during the toddler’s birthday party two weeks ago. He’s able to ride with her stories, actually getting himself _invested_ in toddler business, asking real questions relevant to her stories, and laughing along with the toddlers’ antics.

He also learns that this girl named Danielle is Sarah’s best friend. He knows that Danielle Cage is the daughter of Doctor Jessica Jones and Doctor Luke Cage, two of the hospital’s ophthalmologists. They’re quite a friendly couple, and their daughter is a beautiful and friendly little girl who was present in Sarah’s birthday party, and who is the girl Sarah refuses to part with every time it would be time for them to leave, as Danielle reacts the same way when they would be the ones to leave first.

“What ‘bout you, Daddy? Who your best friend?” she asks softly, tilting her head to the side as Steve brings over the lukewarm mug of cocoa to Sarah. The toddler smiles widely and Steve hums, taking a seat beside his daughter as he wraps his hands around his warmer mug.

“Well, Mommy is my best friend.” he answers, and the toddler scrunches her nose and shakes her head.

“No, Mommy is _Mommy,”_ she responds with a giggle, as if it’s the most obvious thing ever, and anything that says otherwise is absurd and _obviously_ wrong. “Who your best friend, Daddy?” She giggles, and Steve chuckles softly.

“Well, Uncle Bucky’s my best friend,” he says, though quite hesitant at first, because at this point, he’s not at all entirely sure. They’re in good terms at this point, of course, and over the last few weeks they’ve shared their normal banters and have hung out for snacks during breaktime but he’s not sure if whatever damage that he had done in the past is completely fixed for Bucky to have him back as his best friend. “We’ve been friends since we were really young, and Uncle Bucky is a good friend.” he says, and Sarah hums, taking a sip from her mug, and that was the last they spoke about Steve’s friends.

They watch Finding Nemo, upon the toddler’s request, and after setting the movie up, the toddler snuggles closer to her father, crawling over his lap and sitting back comfortably so she is resting on his chest. Steve hums and presses a kiss on the girl’s head, wrapping a secure arm around her as he wraps a quilt over the two of them. Sarah snuggles further in Steve’s embrace, looking up at his father with a wide and bright smile, as Steve smiles back at his little girl, his heart leaping and fluttering, overwhelming with so much love, and he presses another gentle kiss on her forehead.

It’s not at all long before the little girl is fast asleep on her father’s chest. They’re already halfway through the movie, but as Steve looks down, the toddler’s breaths are already even, her back rising and falling as she has shifted position in his arms so she is resting on Steve’s chest with her back facing the TV screen. Steve smiles, muting the movie as he brushes Sarah’s soft hair soothingly, pressing kisses on her face and on her hair while the little girl slept peacefully and soundly, her mouth slightly open as she lets out a soft snore, making Steve chuckle softly, pulling her head closer to his chest as he embraces her tightly.

He carefully adjusts the toddler as he stands, carefully walking over to her bedroom so he can lay her down gently on her bed. The little girl stirs slightly, her eyebrows furrowing as Steve shushes softly, pressing his lips on the side of her head, his one hand smoothing her hair gently as he watches her sleep. He stares at her peaceful form, in awe of the beauty she has even in her sleep, and he feels the corners of his eyes slightly stinging, his chest constricting with a faint pang of pain.

He only wishes he had more time to dwell on moments like these. Though he’s sure that he _won’t_ ever leave, won’t ever allow himself to miss more moments that he had already missed, he still wishes he could’ve had more time to have these moments earlier on in her life, that he’d been in _all_ moments, even during the time when she was still in her mother’s womb. She had been a beautiful baby girl, as what he had seen in the pictures Natasha had displayed on her shelves, and in the pictures she allowed for him to see. Though he knows that he had been forgiven, knows that he is loved and is very much accepted in this family, a huge part of him will never forget what he had done, what he had _missed,_ the journey he had gone through, the pain he had put on Natasha so they could be able to reach this point in their lives.

He would redo things if he could, go back in time and make things right, but he knows he couldn’t do it. He knows no matter how hard he wishes, how many times he _wills_ for it to happen, it won’t be given to him. What he has right now, though, what the woman that he loves has freely given him, is a chance—a chance to do it right, a chance to make things right. And as he stares at this toddler in front of him, sleeping peacefully, with her eyelashes barely touching her rosy cheeks, her mouth puckered as she breathes evenly and deeply—a perfect reflection of the woman he so deeply loves, so deeply adores—he knows in himself that he wouldn’t allow himself to screw this chance up. He can’t lose them again, can’t lose moments like these again, can’t lose his girls ever again. He can’t.

And he won’t.

He takes a few more moments, just smoothing the girl’s hair soothingly, before he leans to press a kiss on her forehead. “Good night, Sarah,” he whispers softly. “Daddy loves you. Mommy and Daddy love you so much.”

He gets up slowly, careful not to stir the girl awake, before he turns her night light on and eventually leaves her room, closing the door gently behind him as he leaves. He takes his phone out, smiling widely when he sees a text from Natasha, telling him that she’d be going into surgery in a while. It was sent around two hours ago, and he might have missed it because he had already been too engrossed in the toddler business his daughter is dragging him into. He dials her number, relenting to leave her a voice message, and he starts to prepare to sleep, stacking up pillows on the couch where he would stay the night.

And it’s another four hours later when Natasha steps out of the operating room alongside Bobbi, who gives her a wink and a nod. “Good job, Romanoff, as usual,” she says teasingly, and Natasha chuckles, giving Bobbi a nod as she removes her scrub cap. “You’ll be down in the pit with me?” she asks, and Natasha nods.

“Be down in a while, just gonna grab some coffee. You want some?” she asks, and the trauma surgeon hums and nods.

“I’ll rush down, left Johnson in charge in the E.R.,” she says. “Bring a cup of coffee for her too?”

“No problem.” Natasha smiles as Bobbi walks over to the elevators, stepping in one of them to the emergency pit. Natasha lets out a breath and a yawn, walking over inside the lounge. She looks up at the clock, and sees that it’s already half past one in the morning, six hours before the end of her shift. She walks over to her locker, puts back her scrub cap and retrieves back her white coat, pens and phone.

Natasha finds a voice message from Steve, sent three hours ago, and the corners of her mouth quirk upwards into a smile. She presses to open the voice message, sitting back down on the bench in front of her locker. “Hey, Nat,” he started softly, and Natasha feels her heart fluttering as she lets out a soft chuckle. “Just put Sarah to bed...a little while ago. We had hot cocoa then watched half of Finding Nemo before she passed out, and I think I might as well watch the rest.” He chuckles softly. “Ordered McDonald’s for dinner, as per usual. _Oh,_ and I wanted to give her a bedtime story, but she was already too passed out when I carried her to her bed.”

Natasha smiles, and Steve lets out a soft sigh, and even on the phone, she can hear the smile lacing in his voice. “I love you, Nat. I love you, and I love Sarah, and…” he trails off, letting out a soft chuckle. “I love you. And I’ll see you tomorrow, alright? Do good, even though I know you already _are_ doing good. I’ll call in the morning, okay? I love you. Good night.” Her phone beeps, and Natasha puts her phone down, her mouth curved into a wide smile as she laughs softly, shaking her head before she tucks her phone in her coat pocket. She gets up, prepares three cups of coffee before putting it in a cup holder to bring it down to the pit.

“You picked a good day to be on a night shift,” Bobbi says as a way of greeting the moment Natasha gets to the E.R. with the three cups of coffee. “It’s a rather slow night, compared to when Barnes or Odinson would be down here with me when they won’t have surgeries in the night.”

Natasha chuckles, handing Bobbi the two cups of coffee so she could bring the other one to Daisy, who’s behind the nurse’s station, completing some charts. “You know I don’t pick the shifts, Bobbi, and if I had the choice I wouldn’t have any overnight shifts at all,” she says. “No offense to your preferences though.” Bobbi chuckles and nods.

“None taken,” she responds, smirking. She takes a seat on one of the empty beds in the E.R. pit, just in front of the emergency entrance, and Natasha follows suit beside her. “I understand, though. I mean, if I were you in your position, have everything you have, do the things that you do, I wouldn’t like overnight shifts too much either.”

Natasha smirks slightly, an eyebrow raising in confusion. “If you were in _my_ shoes?” she asks, and Bobbi nods, taking a sip from her coffee. “And what would that be?”

Bobbi furrows her eyebrows and scrunches her nose, letting out a soft chuckle. “You’re a _family_ woman, Nat—kid, boyfriend and all that,” she points out. “Daylight would mean spending hours at work so in the evenings it would be with family, it’s kind of the normal thing, remember?”

“I had overnight shifts too when I was with Steve,” she defends, letting out a quiet chuckle. “And I’ve had overnight shifts since I had Sarah too.”

“Yeah, and you’d rather spend evenings with them than here, of course,” she says, looking back at the entrance door as Natasha shakes her head slightly, smiling as she follows the trauma surgeon’s line of sight. “I mean, now that you have _both,_ of course, which is a normal thing, really, for doctors with families. It doesn’t make them any less of a doctor, but their priorities are much more different, working dynamics slightly altered than before, where they would rather spend early morning to early evenings in the hospital rather than stay here until late at night.”

Natasha hums, taking a sip from her own cup of coffee as Bobbi turns to face the neurosurgeon. “So I’m good to assume that things between you two are going well?” she asks gently, and Natasha looks back at her friend and nods.

“Things are going well,” she replies softly with a nod, giving the trauma surgeon a smile. “I mean...it’s as well as I can hope for, at least.”

“And what do you hope for?” she asks, and Natasha gives her a confused and amused look as Bobbi laughs softly, nudging her friend with her elbow. “Oh come on, Nat, humor me a little. It’s a slow night in the pit tonight.” she adds teasingly, and Natasha laughs softly as she shakes her head.

She lets out a sigh and she hums softly. “I mean, I hoped for him to stay,” she says softly, giving her friend a gentle smile. “When he first came in here, I just hoped that should the time come that he would meet Sarah, he won’t leave...not break her heart by disappearing in her life after learning who he is to her.” She pauses, shaking her head slightly. “I didn’t think we’d get here at this point, this...family dynamics that we have, never even _thought_ he’d still be here on Sarah's birthday, let alone _plan_ a party for her, but he did. I didn’t think we’d have breakfasts every morning, that he’d spent more time in my apartment than in his, that he’d want to spend every free moment he has taking me out on ice cream or whatnot.” She lets out a soft laugh as Bobbi smiles. “I just...I just _hoped_ that he would stay. And what he’s doing now...what we _have_ now, it’s better than that. I guess it’s something I kinda secretly wished for, but I was just too scared that it wouldn’t be real.”

Bobbi patiently waits for Natasha to continue, and the neurosurgeon chuckles softly as she looks down at her lap. “I’ve always known that I love him, and that I never stopped, even when he left. I’ve always known that there will always be a part of me who will always love him even when it hurt,” she says softly, and she shakes her head slightly as she lifts her head again to look straight towards the emergency door, where she sees the snow gently falling against the glass door. “What I never thought was I’d fall in love with him the same way I had before—that we’d...we’d have _this._ That we’d be together again, and he would...he would be the Steve I used to know, the Steve I wished had stayed when he was gone. I used to just hope he would be that, you know, should he come back. And now I see that...that it’s real, and it’s not something I’m just hoping for in my head, and it feels...it feels unreal, I guess. Unreal in the best way, I think.”

She looks over at Bobbi and gives her a small smile. “But I’ve already protected myself too much when he was gone, built up walls, built a life away from him, and he’s slowly tearing it down to build something stronger,” she says quietly. She bites her bottom lip and shakes her head slightly. “And now I’m falling in love again with Steve Rogers, and I’m just scared that it’s gonna destroy me again, and I won’t have the walls I’ve built to protect me.”

Bobbi gives her a small and reassuring smile. “Well, it wouldn’t be love if there are walls between you and him, wouldn’t be love if it couldn’t destroy you,” she responds softly, and Natasha sighs, giving Bobbi a smile before she takes another sip and faces back at the door again. Bobbi just looks at her friend intently. “But you’re happy? With this thing you have now, this...this relationship you have with Steve? You’re happy?” she asks softly, and Natasha nods, looking back at her again.

“I am.” she answers softly, and Bobbi smiles widely.

“I know it doesn’t make sense, because he’s hurt you and all that, and for years he’s destroyed you, and you’ve destroyed him and all that,” Bobbi says softly. “But I think that when you followed your heart...when it told you to just take the leap and just forgive him and love him, it feels nice, doesn’t it? When we follow our hearts, it’s like a weight gets lifted, and for a moment the sun shines a little brighter than it used to.” She smiles at Natasha. “For a brief moment, there’s like a moment of peace.”

 _A moment of peace,_ a moment of serenity and a moment where it feels like home. It’s what she’s felt since the last few weeks when she’d given her heart back to Steve, and since she got a hold of his as well. Days became lighter and more peaceful, and she has found enough courage and strength in her to just focus on the _now,_ focus on him and Sarah, this family they have both created, and push away all the small doubts and voices creeping up on her, telling her that he’s still gonna leave, that this happiness is short-lived, and no such happiness would ever stay with her.

But she wants to make sure it will. She wants to assure herself that it will. “Do you think this will last?” she asks Bobbi softly. “This thing with me and Steve...d’you think it’s gonna last a lifetime?”

Bobbi hums, pausing for a moment to contemplate, and she nods. “Whenever I see the two of you, _just_ the two of you together, when you would go out in your late afternoon breaks for...ice cream or whatever,” she starts, and Natasha chuckles softly. “And with the way you two act, you look like two best friends who are in love. And the love that you have...it goes _way_ beyond the borders of friendship, and since it’s way beyond that, it’s the strongest one there could be in the level of two best friends.” She smiles. “I see a great love that’s a bit complicated, of course, intense and all-consuming, that no matter what you do, and whatever you fight about, it will always pull you in. Like you were always just...meant to be.”

Natasha smiles widely, letting out a soft laugh as she nods. “You know what they say, when two people are meant to be together, they always find their way back.” she says softly, and Bobbi chuckles as she nods in agreement.

“That’s the two of you, alright. And for me, it’s the most beautiful thing to see,” Bobbi tells her with a wink, and she smiles gently at her. “You made me believe in love again, Nat. You and Rogers did.”

Natasha hums, giving Bobbi a wide smile. “Well, you pushed me towards it,” she says softly, nudging her gently with her shoulder as Bobbi laughs. “If not for the numerous pep talks we’ve had.”

She’s lucky, she supposes, and beyond that, she’s actually _happy._ And as she watches the snowfall in front of her, the cup of coffee in her hand, her friend right beside her watching silently as well, her family right in her heart, both fast asleep in the comforts of her own home, she knows that she’d might as well deserve this. She _does_ deserve this, because they’re hers. This family is _hers._

“Also, I think you’d seriously want to consider moving in together,” Bobbi says, and Natasha laughs as she snaps away from her thoughts, looking at her friend beside her. “I’m _serious,_ Natasha, haven’t you thought of the logistics with what you’re doing? Steve practically spends most of his time over at your place with you and Sarah, and he lives in a small and dingy apartment—”

“How dingy is _dingy?”_ Natasha asks with a laugh. She _does_ know how small Steve’s apartment is, but she supposes it’s not enough for her to consider it as _dingy._

“You get my point,” Bobbi says with a raised eyebrow, and Natasha hums, giving Bobbi a smile as she tilts her head to the side. “Plus, it’ll be fun, and it’s not like you haven’t slept together or something.”

“Bobbi!” Natasha chides with a laugh, and Bobbi laughs, her eyes flickering over to the emergency door when she sees the familiar color of the ambulance siren. Natasha follows her line of sight, as both of them finish up their cups of coffee.

“Guess this talk would have to wait a while.” Bobbi says with a wink, and Natasha chuckles, grabbing Bobbi’s empty cup of coffee as the trauma surgeon walks over to the emergency door, and Natasha follows suit afterwards.

Guess it won’t really be a slow night after all.

The following morning, Steve is carrying a sleepy and yawning Sarah on his hip, the toddler’s head resting on her father’s shoulder, her arms wrapping around his neck as she snuggles her face further in Steve’s neck. Steve hums and rubs Sarah’s back soothingly, pulling down her bonnet to cover her head from the cold as he steps inside the surgical floor. He smiles as he is greeted by nurses and residents, and he smiles widely when he sees Bucky walking towards them, a bright smile on the man’s face.

“Hey, you're here. And I see the little girl’s still sleepy,” Bucky greets, smiling as he rubs Sarah’s back and the toddler lifts her head, smiling sleepily at her Uncle Bucky before resting her head back on Steve’s shoulder. Bucky chuckles softly. “You dragged her up in here early in the morning?” he asks, and Steve chuckles.

“Turns out her sleep is deeper during winter,” Steve says with a soft chuckle, pressing a kiss on the girl’s head as Bucky grins widely. “Literally fresh out of bed. Just put on a sweater and her coat and off we went.”

“Sure you’ll be napping when you get home, anyway,” Bucky says with a nod. “Nat’s in the lounge, by the way, packing some stuff. She and Morse just got out of an emergency surgery when I came in here, ‘round half an hour ago?” Steve raises an eyebrow.

“Something came up last night?” Steve asks, and Bucky hums and nods.

“And it’s a good thing she was there. There was an ugly car crash that came in last night, and...well, as a neurosurgeon she got _quite_ the treat,” Bucky says, and Steve grimaces, shaking his head and Bucky chuckles. “Six hours in the O.R., but it was a success, and Nat came out pretty happy albeit tired.” Steve hums and smiles widely.

“I’m guessing she’ll be having a good nap later,” Steve says, and Bucky laughs, nodding. “Better go to the lounge, then.” Bucky nods.

“See ya both ‘round,” Bucky says, patting Steve’s shoulder, and leaning in to press a quick kiss on Sarah’s head, who is now dozing off in her father’s embrace. “And you too, little miss. I’ll see _you_ around real soon.”

“See you, Buck.” Steve says, and he proceeds to walk over to the lounge, using a free hand to turn the knob and open the door, pushing it open to reveal Natasha and Bobbi sitting on the chairs around the table.

Bobbi grins widely in greeting, as Natasha smiles brightly, getting up from her seat as Steve smiles and nudges Sarah gently. The toddler lifts her head, blinking heavily and smiling brightly when she sees her mother. “Hey, baby,” Natasha greets softly, pressing a kiss on the side of the toddler’s head, taking the little girl in her arms, and embracing her tightly. Sarah hums and buries her face in the crook of Natasha’s neck, and Natasha nuzzles her nose against her bonnet. She looks up at Steve, who wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her close, lifting one hand to brush away some hair on her face.

“Hi.” she greets Steve softly, smiling brightly at him as Steve hums, giving her a gentle smile.

“Hi.” he greets back softly, leaning down to press a chaste kiss on her lips, and on her forehead, embracing her as Natasha buries her face in his chest, and he presses his lips on her head.

Bobbi looks up at them with a smile, feeling like she’s intruding such a special moment as she looks away, focusing on focusing her cup of coffee as Steve presses another kiss on Natasha’s head. She then pulls away slightly, looking up at Steve as he presses another kiss between her brows. “You okay? Ready to go home?” he asks softly, rubbing Natasha’s back soothingly, and she hums, closing her eyes and smiling widely, and leaning up to him as Steve rubs their noses together.

“Ready to take a nap,” she responds softly, and Steve chuckles softly, pulling away slightly to look at her. Natasha opens her eyes and smiles widely at Steve. “You sleep well last night?” she asks softly, and Steve hums and nods.

“Sarah too, so much that she almost refused to get up even when I said we’d be picking you up.” he responds, and Natasha laughs softly.

“Forgot to give you a heads-up—she sleeps better during winter,” she says with a wink and Steve laughs softly, pulling his girls closer to him. “I’ll just go get my stuff.” she says.

They go back home together, but not without Bobbi calling after them, telling them to “move in already” before she shoots Natasha a knowing wink. “She hasn’t stopped since Sarah and I left?” Steve asks, turning the engine on as Natasha chuckles, shaking her head as she turns to find their toddler fast asleep in her car seat.

“Nah, I think it got worse when you did. I was just saved by the trauma accident that came in,” she says, and Steve chuckles, pulling out to the driveway and into the main road, back to Natasha’s apartment. Natasha smiles widely. “It was a _wild_ surgery.” she adds, and Steve laughs softly.

“So I was told,” he says softly, giving her a gentle smile. “Bucky told me it was a car accident?”

“Spinal cord injury, intraparenchymal hemorrhage and perforated lungs. Bobbi took care of the lungs,” she says with a wide smile, which is ironic compared to the weight of the whole injury and situation she is talking about, but Steve doesn’t say that. He’s just glad she has found some sort of happiness in her unwanted night shift. “It was a _long_ surgery, but hey, we saved the guy. Though I don’t think he’ll be driving around anytime soon though.”

“Was the guy drunk? How’d he get into the accident?” he asks.

“Texting while speeding,” Natasha explains and Steve grimaces as she chuckles. “So keep your eyes on the road, lover boy.” she says teasingly, leaning her head back on the headrest as she closes her eyes, and Steve laughs softly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She crashes on the bed the moment they get inside her apartment, while Steve follows, carrying their sleeping toddler on his hip. “C’mere,” she tells him softly, extending one hand over to both Steve and Sarah. Steve hums, closing the door gently behind him as he places Sarah on the bed beside Natasha, careful not to stir the girl awake, and she pulls him down with her. “Lay with me.” she says, and Steve laughs softly.

“Gonna have to prepare your breakfast, sweetheart, I’ll lay with you afterwards.” he says softly, but Natasha shakes her head, giving Steve a sleepy but bright smile.

“No breakfast. C’mere,” she says, and Steve sighs, chuckling softly as he lays on Sarah’s other side, facing Natasha. He drapes an arm over her waist, pulling himself closer as he presses his lips on Sarah’s head, and he leans over to press a soft kiss on Natasha’s forehead. She hums, smiling widely as she leans for him to press a kiss on her lips. “Let’s just have breakfast outside later.” she says, and Steve smiles.

“D’you have anything in mind?” he asks, and Natasha closes her eyes, shaking her head as she snuggles closer to Sarah, and Steve pulls them closer towards him.

“Just you and Sarah,” she answers softly with a smile, making Steve’s heart flutter wildly in his chest. “And some sleep.” she adds, and Steve chuckles, leaning to press a kiss on her forehead. “Stay with us.” she says, and Steve hums.

“Always, sweetheart.” he responds softly, watching as Natasha falls into slumber. He lifts his hand to smooth her hair gently, tucking a few stray hair behind her ear, the pad of his thumb brushing on her cheek gently before he slides it back on the small of her back, his hand flat on her sweater as he closes his eyes as well. He revels in the peace that falls among them, the feel of having his girls in his arms, the sound of their even breaths and Sarah’s soft snores. He nuzzles his nose in Sarah’s hair, inhaling the faint scent of her shampoo, as he presses his lips on her head, and he pulls Natasha even closer to him. He allows this peace, this silence to envelope them, allows this serenity to eventually lull him back to sleep as well.

Steve is eventually awakened by a soft patting on his cheek, followed by a soft, familiar giggle. He feels a weight on his chest, and he opens his eyes to find his little girl crawling over him, smiling and squealing softly when she sees his eyes open, and he is met with a pair of gleaming green eyes looking at him. “Daddy, hungry.” she says softly, and Steve blinks his eyes rapidly, trying to wake himself completely before resting a hand over the toddler’s back, trying to keep her still so she wouldn’t fall off of him.

He turns to find Natasha still fast asleep beside them, and he smiles, looking back at his daughter and chuckling as he smooths her bright tresses, tangled from the nap she just had, her eyes somehow still bleary from her sleep yet also bright as she smiles widely at her father. “You hungry?” he asks softly, and the toddler nods, leaning towards her father’s touch as Steve smiles. “You had quite a long sleep, baby. Had a little nap with Mommy today too?” he asks.

“And Daddy,” she adds, and Steve chuckles softly, leaning to press a gentle kiss on the tip of her nose as Sarah giggles softly. “Mommy still sleepy, but ‘m hungry.” 

Steve laughs softly. “Well, we can’t leave Mommy here while we eat,” Steve tells his daughter softly, turning his head to look at Natasha, so peaceful and deeply asleep. He feels bad for the suggestion he’s about to make, but he figures he might as well do it, since he knows his little girl will do it either way, if only to satisfy her hunger. “Why don’t you wake Mommy up, hm?” he tells her softly, pressing his lips on the toddler’s forehead. “We can grab some breakfast outside, since Mommy said she wants some breakfast outside, then after that, if she’s still sleepy, we can go straight home so Mommy can rest, while we play. Sound good?”

Sarah nods excitedly, rolling down from Steve’s chest as Steve chuckles, orienting his body to face his girls as Sarah carefully pats Natasha’s cheek, waking her up. “Mommy, wakey.” she says softly, and Steve smiles widely, especially when Natasha starts furrowing her eyebrows and scrunching her nose. He watches her wrap an arm around the toddler, pulling her closer to her as Sarah laughs, her laughter resonating inside the room as Steve chuckles, and Natasha begins to smile, leaning to press a kiss on the side of her head.

“‘M hungry, Mommy,” Sarah says, and Natasha begins to press kisses on the girl’s face, making her laugh, squirming in her mother’s touch as Steve laughs softly, watching them fondly. “Mommy, ‘m hungry!” the toddler exclaims in-between her laughter as Natasha chuckles softly.

“Did Daddy tell you to wake me up?” she asks, raising an eyebrow over at Steve who chuckles softly and shakes his head, inching himself close to wrap an arm around Natasha’s waist, pulling the both of them closer to him. Sarah laughs softly, snuggling herself comfortably between her parents as she looks up to find her parents kiss softly, and she hums, smiling widely, and laughing when her parents start to press kisses all over her face.

“But for the record, you did tell me to grab breakfast outside.” Steve tells her pointedly, and Natasha chuckles softly with a nod, rubbing her nose against his as she presses a chaste kiss on his lips and he hums, smiling widely against her mouth.

“I know I did,” Natasha responds with a smile. “Doesn’t mean _you_ disturbed my sleep.” Steve laughs softly and shakes his head, pressing another kiss on her lips as Natasha giggles against his mouth. “Keep on doing that and I’ll be less mad at you for disturbing my sleep.”

Steve hums, pressing a long and soft kiss on Natasha’s lips as she kisses him back. “Is it a good morning yet?” he asks softly against her mouth and she hums, kissing him softly as she smiles against Steve’s mouth.

“Oh, it’s a _great_ morning.”

And it turns out, it _had_ been a great morning. After Natasha and Sarah had showered and gotten dressed, Steve drives them to a diner near Broadway, an all-day breakfast diner Natasha had suggested, since she had been craving for some blintz, the diner’s modern twist on the traditional Eastern European, cottage cheese-stuffed crepe. It was the first time Steve had stepped inside and dined in the restaurant, and both he and Sarah had enjoyed their breakfasts as much as Natasha did with hers. They proceed to the park afterwards, as both parents have promised Sarah to bring her to the park on their day-off (and _not_ in Disneyland, which they’re glad the toddler didn’t remember. Nevertheless, they’re still committed to bringing her to Disneyland very soon, probably when they would be able to file vacation leaves.), and they both allow Sarah to run around and play with other kids, while Steve and Natasha just stay by the bench, holding hands and huddled together as they mindfully watch their little girl run around and play.

At some point, Steve had stood up from his seat beside Natasha, and after giving her a small kiss, he proceeds to play with Sarah. Natasha watches fondly as Sarah runs, laughing loudly as Steve “tries” to run after her and tag her. She smiles and chuckles softly, especially when Steve had finally caught Sarah and he lifts her up, the toddler squealing as she extends her arms over to Steve, and Steve pulls her in to press a kiss on her cheek. The little girl wiggles her legs, still, wanting to be put down as she continues to run, calling for her father to catch her. Steve laughs, looking back at Natasha as she gives him a small nod, smiling widely at him. He gives her a wink, before turning back to run after their toddler once again.

_When we follow our hearts, it’s like a weight gets lifted, and for a moment the sun shines a little brighter than it used to. For a brief moment, there’s like a moment of peace._

Natasha leans back on the bench, smiling widely as she remembers Bobbi’s words from last night, her heart leaping and stomach flipping as she continues to watch Steve and Sarah play and laugh. She lets out a breath, biting her bottom lip as she finds that she absolutely _cannot_ contain this giddiness bubbling inside of her—of how everything about this just feels _so_ right, how everything is starting to fall back into its proper place, how she is where she’s supposed to be, and she is where she _really_ belonged.

And she belongs with them—with this little girl who has her father’s hair and her mother’s eyes, and this man who had since got a hold of her heart the same way she had gotten a hold of his. There’s a certain peace in thinking that she had officially found her home, and she had found it in the family that she and Steve had created out of their shared love for each other. There’s a certain kind of calm giddiness that she feels in thinking how she was _meant_ to be here, how she is just _meant_ to be with them, and how she is meant to have the story that she had. It wasn’t perfect, and if she had the chance, perhaps she could change and tweak some, but she supposes that what happens from _this_ moment on in their story is the most important part—how they proceed from this moment onwards.

And honestly? She’s pretty excited about it.

She is snapped out of her thoughts when she finds Steve walking back to her, their little toddler in his arms, huge smiles on their faces as she chuckles and smiles widely back at them. “Our little princess got tired,” Steve says softly with a chuckle, sitting down on the spot beside Natasha as he adjusts Sarah on his lap, and Natasha chuckles softly, brushing away some of the hair on Sarah’s face. “She’s been running _really_ fast and I barely kept up!” Steve says, pressing a kiss on Sarah’s head as the toddler giggles.

“Daddy catch two times!” she exclaims, in the midst of her pants as she catches her breath, and she gives her mother a soft laugh. “Then I got tired.” Natasha laughs softly, taking out a face towel from her bag to wipe off the sweat on Sarah’s face. It’s a cold day, but then her little girl had been running around fast in the park, and she refuses to allow the sweat to dry up as she might catch a cold.

“Did Daddy get tired too?” Natasha asks, raising an eyebrow teasingly at Steve, a smirk forming on her mouth as she hands over the face towel to him, and she takes the toddler already extending her arms towards her mother, so Steve can wipe the sweat from his face too. He chuckles softly and shakes his head fondly.

“If anything, it gave me more reason as to why I should work out and jog more,” he says softly, and Natasha laughs, snuggling Sarah closer to her as the toddler continues to pant, catching her breaths and snuggling further in her mother’s chest, her eyes closing as she does so. “This place is a good area to start, and it’s close to your place too.” he says, and Natasha hums.

“If you jog from the apartment to here, it’s a good enough distance for a workout, but I know you wouldn’t just settle with _that,”_ she says, and Steve laughs softly, folding the face towel neatly, as Natasha gestures for him to put it back inside her bag. “Although this place in itself is a good enough place to jog around.” she says, looking around the park as Steve hums and nods.

“Then maybe I should start looking for a place near here,” he says softly, and Natasha’s eyes widen, gleaming as her smile widens as well, and Steve laughs softly. “A place as big as yours, or maybe a little bigger, make it _three_ bedrooms, maybe?” he asks softly, almost sheepishly and Natasha laughs softly.

“Are we really talking about moving in _today?_ In _this_ place?” she asks, laughing softly, as Steve smiles widely and sheepishly, his cheeks tinting with a faint blush as Natasha laughs softly. “Steve, my place is already perfect for now. The only thing missing is _you.”_

“Yeah, but how about a fresh start?” he asks, smiling widely, and Natasha chuckles softly.

“We can, soon. But we’re nearing the holidays, and prices are hiking in apartments around here for some reason,” she tells him softly, and Steve hums, smiling as he chuckles. “‘Sides, I really _was_ planning on asking you to move in with me—with _us.”_ she adds softly.

“I know,” Steve says softly, lifting a hand to cup Natasha’s cheek, his thumb brushing her cheek gently. “And _I_ was planning on looking for an apartment we can both look into so we could all move in it together.” Natasha smiles gently up at him. “A home just for the three of us, where we could maybe spend the holidays this year.”

“Were you prompted by Bobbi teasing us about moving in together?” she asks, raising an eyebrow teasingly as he chuckles and shakes his head.

“I really was thinking about it, but then I didn’t know if you’d want it too, or if you think it’s too fast for us. I guess I just...didn’t wanna ruin our moment, you know, in case you’re not so comfortable with it yet,” he explains gently, and Natasha hums in understanding. “But then you...well, you didn’t back away when Bobbi suggested we do so.” He lets out a soft chuckle as Natasha laughs softly. “And I practically spend more time in your place than mine too, so...there’s also that.”

The fact that they _almost_ practically live together already. Natasha smiles widely as she nods. “And you’ll be spending the holidays with us too,” she says softly, and she smiles sheepishly up at him. “You will, right?” she asks almost tentatively, and Steve laughs softly, nodding as he leans to press a soft kiss on her lips.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.” he says, and Natasha smiles, humming as he presses a kiss on her lips once again. “You never said, but are _you_ pressured to move in with me after Bobbi asked us so?” he asks, and Natasha laughs softly and shakes her head.

“We were gonna end up doing so anyway 'cause of Sarah, Steve,” she says with a laugh. _In the beginning,_ she thinks. They were supposed to move in together just for Sarah _in the beginning,_ but now as things have progressed greatly between them, there are other things, of course, which prompt her to _really_ consider moving in with him. She shrugs. “And might as well do it soon, right?” she asks teasingly with a wink, and Steve laughs.

They spend a few more moments in the park, and after a while, Sarah had seemed to gather up enough energy once again as she lifts her head from her mother’s chest, tugging her father’s coat sleeve again, asking him to play tag with her again. Steve laughs, looking over to Natasha who chuckles and nods, putting the toddler down upon her behest, and shaking her head gently, leaning down to press an apologetic kiss on her forehead, when the toddler asks for her to join them. “Sorry, baby, have to watch your and Mommy’s things.” she says softly, her eyes flickering over to Steve as he chuckles and gets up from the bench. Sarah begins to take off, and Steve laughs, running after the toddler around the park once again.

Upon the toddler’s second time to be tired, they decide to just walk around the park—all three of them, with Sarah sitting up on Steve’s shoulders, her tiny arms wrapped around his neck. Steve holds the girl in place with one hand, while he holds Natasha’s hand with the other. They take their time in their stroll, with Sarah just pointing at trees and migratory birds that are surprisingly present in the park, asking her parents what kind of birds they are, and while both Steve and Natasha are two smart adults, their knowledge of science only limits them to human biology, and not exactly of zoology and phylogeny.

“Sorry, babe,” Natasha says softly, looking up at her daughter as she chuckles softly. “Think Daddy and I studied the wrong kind of science to answer that question.” Steve laughs softly, and so does Sarah, yet the toddler still proceeds to ask questions on the different types of birds and plants visible to her.

It’s just a slow day for the three of them, and by lunchtime, Steve drives them to a nearby diner _he_ had been craving for this time. Sarah had become groggy midway through their lunch, prompting the two adults to finish their lunches quicker so they could get home as their little girl is becoming crankier by the minute because of how sleepy and tired she is getting. Steve carries the toddler, buckles her up in the car seat, and they begin to drive home.

“I mean, we can scout for apartments online,” Natasha suggests, when Steve had earlier on suggested that they look around for possible apartments around the vicinity (even though Natasha insisted that hers was already okay, but Steve had insisted as well, and Natasha couldn’t say no in moving into a better apartment, of course). “Maybe make a shortlist, and then next year, after the holiday rush, we can go visit it, see for ourselves.” Steve hums and nods, his eyes stuck on the road as he drives.

“I think that sounds good,” he says softly. “I mean, it’s not at all an urgent matter. We can always look for apartments next time.” Natasha shrugs.

“Well, it’s not like we have anything to do today,” she says, and Steve chuckles softly. “Unless you’re planning on packing up and moving your things today?”

Steve laughs softly. “As much as I want to,” he agrees with a short nod. “But I don’t feel like leaving you both yet.” he says, looking at Natasha who smiles widely at him. He takes her hand in his, giving it a light and gentle squeeze. “‘Sides, I promised the whole day, and there’s always tomorrow.” He gives her a wide smile. “I’ll settle in tomorrow night after our shift?” he asks, and Natasha chuckles softly.

“Impatient,” she teases softly, and Steve chuckles. “Tomorrow morning?”

“See, _now_ who’s the impatient one?” Steve teases back, and Natasha laughs softly.

Steve carries Sarah up once they get to the apartment, and Natasha opens Sarah’s room as Steve lays the toddler down on her bed. Natasha gently removes her bonnet and jacket, leaving the toddler in her sweater, undershirt, leggings and leg warmers. She smiles, brushing some of the hair off of Sarah’s face as her thumb brushes her rosy cheek smoothly and gently.

“She’s due for her naptime, anyway,” she murmurs softly, enough for Steve to hear, who nods, leaning to press his lips on Natasha’s head, then down on Sarah’s forehead. “And I think she had fun.” she adds, looking over at Steve with a smile as he chuckles and nods.

“I do hope so,” Steve responds softly, and he rests his hand on the small of Natasha’s back, watching as Natasha pulls up the toddler’s blanket up to her chin. Steve’s smile fades slightly, his eyebrows furrowing as he rests a hand over his daughter’s chest, feeling it rise and fall too quickly, somehow _quicker_ than normal, and he _knows_ his little girl’s normal breathing. “She's still tired, don’t you think?” he asks softly, trying to push away any sort of worry that may arise inside of him, borne out of his usual paranoia as a cardiac surgeon and as a protective father as well.

Natasha hums. “I’m sure she is,” she responds softly. She looks up to find Steve’s eyebrows knit together, his eyes focusing on his hand on the toddler’s chest. She tries not to get too caught up in it, wills herself to believe that their little girl is just _tired,_ but other than that, she’s already healthy as she can be. Besides, medically speaking, complications arising from her sickness should’ve shown _way_ before, so perhaps this is just Steve’s paranoia as a surgeon. “Steve.” she calls him softly, resting her hand on his, and he looks back at her as she gives him a gentle smile. “It’ll even out in a while, I promise.”

Steve hesitates for a moment, before he sighs and nods, giving Natasha a gentle smile as he pulls his hand back to rest it again on the small of Natashas back.

They both take a moment, just watching their little girl sleep peacefully, her chest rising and falling as she breathes, and her mouth slightly open. “How did we get so damn lucky?” he whispers, pressing a kiss on the side of Natasha’s head as she hums, her smile widening as she lets out a soft chuckle, knowing exactly what he means.

“We must’ve done something,” she says softly, smoothing Sarah’s hair gently. “Must’ve done something good to have her.” She places another small kiss on her forehead as she gets up, and Steve follows suit, holding her hand and intertwining their fingers together before she tugs him gently out the door and into the living room, closing the door behind them gently.

_Must’ve done something good, must’ve done something good to have her._

Steve looks back at her, giving Natasha a gentle smile as he just looks at her—looks at her and _admires_ her, the beauty she has both inside and out. He doesn’t know. He honestly has no idea what he had done in his life to deserve Sarah but more so, _her._ Natasha. The love of his life, and the mother of his child. He’s done plenty of things in his life, and while he had thought himself to be somehow good, still morally upright and true, he’s had his own moments of slipping up—more so with her. He’s done things that have hurt her, caused her the pain she doesn’t at all deserve, yet what had he done to still deserve her? What had he done, in this life, that he still has her? Was it the good that he does through his profession, the accumulation of all the good things he had done in his lifetime so far?

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what he had done to deserve her, _how_ he deserved her, and he probably never will. But if there’s one thing he knows, one thing he is sure of, is that he loves her, and he loves this little family they have, and he will definitely do _anything,_ do everything he could to protect them and make sure that they’re always safe and healthy, and that _he_ will become the man _they_ actually deserve.

And there’s no better time to do so than _now,_ just as they’re really about to officially start their life together.

Natasha lets out a soft chuckle, shaking her head slightly, her cheeks tinting a faint blush at the way he is looking at her. “What?” she asks softly, snapping Steve away from his thoughts as he smiles widely, taking a step closer to her and wrapping his arms around her waist.

“Nothing,” he responds softly, leaning to press a chaste kiss on her lips. “I love you.” _Thank you, and I love you._

Natasha hums, pressing a soft kiss on his lips as she smiles against his mouth. “I love you too.” she responds softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i gotta be honest, since the day my university suspended classes, i started to lose track of time. more so when my whole country implemented the lockdown, thus my late update. i do promise to make it up in the next chapter! (because it'll be the start of yet another major part of the plot of R.A.) also huge thanks to everyone who still continues to read, and for giving kind comments and kudos too!


	18. Even If We Can’t Find Heaven, I’ll Walk Through Hell With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay someone’s on schedule! hehe i just wanna say thank you to everyone who still continue to read, leave comments, reviews and kudos here; it really means a whole lot! hope you enjoy this one ❤️

Everything is _perfect._

Natasha’s proud of herself, she supposes. Over the last couple of years, she remembers going through a few phases of her thoughts whenever she would wake up in the morning. She remembers her refusal to wake up and get up, feeling the loss of hope crashing on her as she continues to watch her life crumble, crash and burn—it was the time when Steve had left, and she found out she was going to be a mother, that she would have to raise their baby alone.

Then she remembers a certain pull, tugging her awake to get up from bed because there’s someone else—a little girl—who needs her. Sarah needs her to wake up and get up, to put on a happy face and a happy facade, because she couldn’t afford to be sad and tired when she is who her little girl has, and who her little girl relies on to live. She remembers moments of wanting to just give up, just let go and let all of this be over, but then she would see her, and she would see _him,_ and even if it would hurt her, she would still wake up and get up, because her little girl, who has his hair and her eyes, who has her smile and his heart, needs her.

Then she remembers once again feeling the weight of the world crashing down on her, where she had wished for the universe to take _her_ instead of her daughter, where she wished for the sickness to just be put on _her,_ and not her daughter, where she wished that if there’s any one of them whose heart is supposed to fail, then let _hers_ fail not her daughter’s. She remembers despair, sleepless nights and feelings of hopelessness. She remembers numerous panic attacks, moments of hatred and loneliness along with bouts of anguish and desperation. It was the time when Sarah had been diagnosed with TOF, when _she_ had made a wrong call and it made her baby weaker than she should. She remembers sorrow, the undesirable feeling of _having_ to wake up only to find her daughter still on the hospital bed, looking small and pale as ever. She remembers wanting to _stay_ asleep, that all of this is just a fever dream. But sadly, it wasn’t.

For quite some time, she had long forgone the possibility of herself feeling happy and complete. She had long forgone the possibility of waking up and actually feeling like everything in her world is perfect.

But she had been waking up in the arms of her lover every morning for the last three months, waking up to long and slow kisses, leaving her breathless and wanting _more,_ that it _would_ progress to more as a continuation of their activities the evening before. She had been waking up to a pair of bright, blue eyes, those that look at her with adoration and love every morning, of lust and desire every time she would entice him to make love to her. She had been waking up feeling safe, and feeling complete, feeling like the world is intact and unbroken, especially when they would both get up to wake their daughter up, and they would have breakfast as a family.

In the confines of _their_ home, this apartment that was once just hers, and now it’s _theirs,_ and theirs alone. 

Steve kisses her softly and slowly, and she hums against his mouth, shivering slightly as she feels his fingertips tracing down her bare back ever so lightly. He wraps his other arm around her waist, lifting her up so she is on top of him, and she grinds her hips slightly against his, smiling against his mouth when he moans at her movement, and he tilts his face as he starts pressing open-mouthed kisses on her neck. She lets out a sigh, craning her neck to allow more exposure for him, as she runs her fingers through his hair, hissing and gripping it tightly when she feels him biting a sensitive portion on her neck.

“That’s gonna leave a mark,” she murmurs, goosebumps running through her skin when she hears him chuckle, his hot breath against her skin as he presses another kiss on her pulse. “You’re never gonna see me in a ponytail ever again if you keep on doing that.” He’s been doing it since last night, and the night before that, and the night _before_ it.

Steve hums, tilting his head back to face her again, and he smiles—that _dangerous_ smile of his that makes her _want_ him. “Or I could just leave marks on other parts.” he says, and Natasha chuckles, humming as she slides her hands on his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles as he leans to press his mouth on hers in a soft kiss.

“That’s one way to say good morning.” she murmurs, and he laughs softly, pulling away slightly to rub their noses together, pressing a kiss on her forehead and on the tip of her nose.

“Good morning.” he greets softly, and she giggles lightly.

He then looks down at her, smiling and feeling his heart double over, absolutely _floored_ at how beautiful this woman is in his arms. He smiles, lifting his hand to gently brush away some of her hair off of her face, his fingers running over her flushed cheek, her white creamy skin glowing, probably still from the afterglow from last night. She looks up at him, giving him a wide and gentle smile, her eyes sparkling and bright, her lips still red and plump, and he leans down to capture her mouth in his, giving her a soft kiss as she melts into his embrace.

What was she saying again? _Right._ Everything is just _so_ goddamn perfect.

He presses another kiss on her mouth and she hums, smiling against his mouth. “Love you,” he murmurs, kissing her softly. “I love you so much.”

Natasha hums. “I love you too,” she murmurs. “So much.”

Steve smiles as he nuzzles his nose in her hair, inhaling the faint scent of her vanilla shampoo as he pulls her closer to him, and he feels her press a small kiss on his bare chest. “D’you think she’s awake?” she murmurs softly, and Steve hums, rubbing her back gently.

“Won’t be in another few minutes,” he responds, pressing a small kiss on her hair. “Any requests for breakfast this morning?” he asks, and Natasha chuckles softly, shaking her head against his chest.

“Just snuggles with you and Sarah.” she answers, and Steve laughs softly, pulling away slightly to look at her. She gives him a wide and innocent smile, making him smile widely as he chuckles and shakes his head fondly.

“Snuggles all day? You’re gonna miss your shift, Doctor Romanoff.” he chides teasingly and Natasha hums, grinning up at him as she laughs softly.

“Maybe it’s not such a bad idea,” she tells him. “I’d have another day-off, and maybe _this_ time, we’d get to physically scout for possible apartments we’ve been looking at.” Steve hums and chuckles.

“As much as it’s tempting, remember we have to save our leaves,” Steve says softly, pressing a kiss on her forehead. “We promised our little girl a vacation, remember? Disneyland, and some time on the beach as well? Gotta save the leaves for this summer.” Natasha hums.

“I know,” she responds softly. “Doesn’t mean I don’t prefer to spend time with both of you.” Steve laughs softly and nods.

“I know, sweetheart,” Steve says, giving her another kiss on the forehead as he sighs. “But we’ll have later, okay? We’ll drop you off in the hospital, and we’ll pick you up again.” He smiles down at her. “Let’s have dinner outside, yeah? How does that sound?” Natasha hums.

“‘Spose it’s fine,” she sighs, and Steve laughs, as Natasha smiles brightly up at him, lifting a hand to run her fingers through his hair, her fingertips massaging his scalp gently, the way she knows he likes it. Steve hums gratefully, closing his eyes as he relaxes under her touch. “But no more McDonald’s for Sarah, okay? She’s had enough, and you always give her that whenever I leave you both alone.” she says, and when Steve opens his eyes, her eyebrow is raised and he grins sheepishly at her, leaning down to press a soft kiss on her lips.

“Okay.”

It’s another one of those days where Steve gets a day-off while she doesn’t, and she supposes that since _that_ night three months ago when they had the same circumstance where it was _her_ who had the night shift and Steve was tasked to watch over Sarah, the arrangement isn’t at all that big of a deal. And things are made easier _now,_ since Steve had moved in, so all problems of logistics could be easily thrown out of the window.

And so after a few more moments of snuggles and kisses, they both get up from bed and get dressed, and Steve proceeds straight to the kitchen to prepare breakfast while Natasha proceeds to Sarah’s bedroom. She smiles when she sees the little girl still sleeping peacefully and deeply, her chest rising and falling (albeit a _little_ too quickly for her liking, but she and Steve had assured each other that she’s fine, and the toddler would say anything to them if she does feel any kind of pain or discomfort) and her comforter covering her chin. Natasha walks over beside the bed, kneeling down beside it as she brushes the toddler’s hair gently, pressing soft kisses on the girl’s face.

Sarah groans, her eyebrows furrowing as she squirms under her mother’s touch. “Hey, baby,” she greets softly, smoothing Sarah’s soft hair. “Time to wake up.”

Sarah’s eyes flutter open, and Natasha smiles widely. She leans down to kiss the spot between her eyebrows again, her arm wrapping around the toddler’s body and Sarah buries her face in the crook of Natasha’s neck, wrapping her arms around her. She chuckles softly as she carries her to her lap, her hand running down smoothly on her back as the toddler whimpers softly against her mother’s neck. “Mommy, ‘m sleepy.” she murmurs, and Natasha chuckles softly, pressing a kiss on the toddler’s head.

“I know, baby,” Natasha murmurs against the toddler’s hair, and the toddler lets out a small whimper as she breathes deeply. “I know.”

She does a little calculation in her head, of the number of hours her daughter’s sleep had been. She fell asleep a tad earlier the night before, claiming that the games and activities they had in daycare had worn her out. So much so that right after dinner, she was quiet enough to _not_ ask her parents for a movie night, instead heading straight to bed right after Natasha had bathed and dressed her up for bed. After a brief bedtime story, courtesy of Steve, the toddler was practically passed out like a light. And _now,_ as she looks at the clock hanging on the girl’s bedroom wall, she starts feeling both confused and a little alarmed, since Sarah had practically gone past her usual waking time.

She’d been asleep for almost _twelve_ hours, yet she still claims, and still appears to be tired, still.

“You okay, baby?” Natasha asks softly, trying to quell the worry off of her voice, and Sarah nods against her mother’s neck. “You sure? No ouchie? Nothing hurts?” she asks, feeling her own heart pounding against her chest.

But Sarah shakes her head, tightening her hold around her mother’s neck. “‘M sleepy.” she murmurs, and Natasha huffs out a small chuckle, pushing away the lingering thoughts of something _bad_ possibly happening to her baby out of her mind. Maybe she _is_ just tired from yesterday’s games and activities from daycare, whatever it is that they had done, and perhaps her little girl just likes sleeping in, since it _is_ still a cold spring morning, and her toddler loves sleeping in during cold mornings.

Natasha hums softly. “How ‘bout we go to Daddy, hm? Daddy’s outside making breakfast.” she says softly, and smiles when she feels the toddler nodding. She gets up from the bed, carrying Sarah on her hip as she exits her room, and proceeds to the dining area adjacent to her kitchen, where she starts smelling fried eggs and pancakes.

Sarah lifts her head from her mother’s shoulder, probably smelling the same scent Natasha is, and she smiles widely and sleepily when she spots Steve, who turns and grins widely upon seeing his daughter. “There’s my baby girl,” Steve greets, as Natasha walks over beside him so he can press a soft kiss on Sarah’s forehead as the toddler giggles softly, wiggling her legs as she faces her father, pressing both small hands on his cheeks as Steve presses another small kiss on the tip of her nose. “You ready for breakfast, hm? Pancakes and eggs?”

Sarah nods, smiling widely as she looks over at her mother who chuckles and presses a kiss on her cheek. “Only food can ever make you feel alive, hm?” Natasha teases her daughter softly, eliciting a soft laugh from the toddler. Steve chuckles, watching as Natasha places Sarah on her chair before he turns back to his cooking, and Natasha proceeds to prepare Sarah’s milk and her and Steve’s cups of coffee.

Breakfast is done over stories and running through their plans for the day. After dropping Natasha off in the hospital, Steve and Sarah will be going to the park (as requested by the little girl) where she could run around and play, and where they can stroll around where she can see the trees (and birds, too!). Afterwards, they’ll grab some lunch. Steve and Natasha had also figured that perhaps Steve and Sarah could go check out the apartments they’ve put in their shortlist, so that Sarah can also see and have a say which one would be comfortable for her, and which one she likes the most. They’ll have some free time to spare after that, and Sarah had suggested that they go for ice cream before picking up Natasha from the hospital, since that would give them both time to just hang around the lounge perhaps if they would come in earlier than before her shift ends.

And in no time, they’re already in front of the hospital, as Steve pulls up just in front of the entrance. “You both going to be okay?” she asks softly, looking over at Steve who nods and gives her a smile.

“We’ll be okay,” he tells her, leaning over to press a kiss on her lips. “Do good today. I love you.”

“I love you too.” she responds, pressing another chaste kiss on his lips before she steps out of the car, opening the back door as Sarah smiles widely at her mother, extending her arms over to her as Natasha chuckles and leans down to press a kiss on Sarah’s forehead. “And I love _you,_ little one. Mommy will see you later, okay?” Natasha smooths her daughter’s cheek gently as the three-year-old hums and nods.

“Okay,” she says softly, watching as Natasha reaches out for her bag. “Love you, Mommy.”

Natasha smiles brightly, leaning to press a kiss on the tip of Sarah’s nose. “I’ll see you both later.” she says, taking a step back and closing the door of the car as she flings her bag over her shoulder. She gives them a wave, watches Sarah waving through the window, and Steve gives her a smile and a wink, before he drives away, and Natasha turns and proceeds inside the hospital.

It’s a relatively non-busy day, with only one surgery lined up for her in the morning, while the rest of her day is devoted to checkups and monitorings. She steps out of the lounge and back in the lobby as she fixes her white coat and pens, and she is greeted by Wanda by the nurses’ station, as the resident looks up from the records she’s filling in, giving her mentor a smile. “Ready for today’s adventures?” she asks, and Natasha chuckles, taking the record Wanda is handing over to her.

“More like _adventure,_ since there’s only one neuro case for today,” Natasha says, and Wanda chuckles softly. “Do you have the scans? We’ll just do a run-through of everything before we start prepping?” She looks over at the resident who nods, sliding over a large brown envelope to Natasha, who nods. “Alright, go ahead.” she tells Wanda, giving the resident a short and encouraging nod, as she takes the scans out of the envelope.

“Patient is Mara Buckwheat, 49 years old with a history of arterial hypertension and chronic renal insufficiency, though she’s currently undergoing dialysis after a failed kidney transplant almost ten years ago. Besides that, she was also in therapy with clopidogrel and acetylsalicylic acid because of deep arterial thrombosis,” Wanda starts to recite, and Natasha hums and nods, signalling the younger woman to proceed, listening intently as she matches what the resident is saying to the case she had reviewed yesterday upon receiving the case. She lifts one of the CT scans and starts looking at it intently, as the resident proceeds.

“She started complaining of intense headaches around late last year, and when she started experiencing rapidly progressive deterioration of consciousness, coupled with vomiting, she was brought in the hospital two days ago, where she fell into a coma. CT scan shows a 42-millimeter hematoma of the left cerebellar hemisphere, with calcifications and perilesional edema, causing compression of the brainstem and triventricular hydrocephalus.” Wanda explains, and Natasha nods, her eyes darting over to the light gray clump of circles on the right side of the image (which is the left hemisphere), the hematoma Wanda is talking about.

“Further MRI testing also shows a tumor mass of the left cerebellar hemisphere, with heterogeneous signal due to the presence of peripheral calcifications, diffuse intralesional bleeding, solid nodules and cystic and necrotic components,” Wanda continues, as Natasha takes out the MRI scans, her eyes darting over to _that_ tumor lesion compressing Mara’s brainstem, and displacing the fourth ventricle. “Other than that, she also has discrete perilesional edema, severe brainstem compression, triventricular hydrocephalus and herniation of the left cerebellar tonsil. No other information from DWI and spectroscopy because of the diffuse intralesional blood.”

Natasha sighs and nods. “Good. Very good,” she says, giving the resident a small smile. “The clinical onset was that of a severe cerebellar hemorrhage with rapidly progressive neurological deterioration, coma and signs of severe brainstem compression requiring respiratory assistance, in absence of any previous neurological symptom.” Wanda nods. “What’s the significance of Mara’s medical history to the onset?” she quizzes.

“Her chronic hypertension, dialysis, and therapy with clopidogrel and acetylsalicylic acid favored the hemorrhage in the tumor,” Wanda responds, and Natasha nods, giving her resident a smile as Wanda tilts her head to the side as she looks at the attending. “Might there be a chance of rebleeding even if we do a tumor resection during the surgery?” Natasha nods.

“There’s always a chance, and for this one, changes are _really_ high given the clinical onset. And the fact that it’s progressive, and it’s evidenced only by MRI, too,” Natasha answers, and Wanda hums and nods. “It’s a rather difficult case, because other than the fact that liponeurocytoma of the central nervous system is highly unusual, the sudden tumor hemorrhage is also very fatal. Which means that _should_ this case be a success, there’s still a possibility that other complications may arise and she wouldn’t really make it.” Natasha explains.

Wanda nods understandingly. “Her kids know about that, since I got to tell them about what we discussed yesterday,” she says. “But still, they said they would rather give it a shot than do nothing.”

“It _is_ worth the shot, I suppose,” Natasha says with a nod, putting the scans back in the envelope. “But you told them there’s no guarantee she’d come out of the coma right away, right?” Wanda nods.

“Answers remain the same,” she responds, and Natasha quirks her mouth to the side, nodding as she sighs, and Wanda gives her a small and sheepish shrug. “She’s their family. You’ll do anything for family.” she adds, and Natasha nods.

“Yeah, I know. In times like these, family’s always the priority,” she says softly and she sighs. “I just...I want this to work. I want Mara to live, wake up from her coma, get rid of the pain and suffering she’s feeling, but...medically speaking, I have no idea how that could be possible given...well, given _all_ of these.” Wanda sighs and nods, and Natasha gives the resident a small smile. “All these dilemmas, these difficulties...it comes with the job, you know.”

Wanda lets out a chuckle as she nods again. “I know. I signed up for this,” she says, and Natasha’s smile widens as she nods. Wanda sighs and gives Natasha a short nod. “I’ll go prep Mara?” she asks, and Natasha nods again.

“I’ll see you in O.R. 3.”

Natasha steps inside the operating room after scrubbing, allowing the nurses to put on her operating gown, gloves and mask, and she walks to where Wanda is preparing the surgical microscope and the patient for her craniectomy. “You ready?” Natasha asks, once she settles in front of her microscope by the head of the patient, and Wanda gives her a nod, positioning herself in front of her _own_ microscope.

It’s not a swift surgery, not like one of those surgeries that though it’s urgent and fatal, Natasha could just breeze through it so easily. _No._ As she performs an urgent midline and left suboccipital craniectomy, her mind drifts off to the fact that this patient is a mother, whose kids she had just met outside before proceeding inside the operating room. Their kids have no father, and whatever story there could be, the fact is that this woman is all they have left. Mara’s kids are no older than she and Yelena were when _they_ lost their adoptive father, and she could only imagine and empathize the pain they would go through should things go south on this table, by the work of _her_ hands.

The surgical rush is coming in, and she feels it rising inside of her, but there’s a little voice inside of her that echoes what Wanda had told her earlier, when Natasha asked if the kids knew of the possible consequences should they proceed with this tricky procedure: _She’s their family. You’ll do anything for family._

She knows. More than anything, she knows _that._

She is greeted by the tumor she and Wanda had been observing with the scans earlier. It’s a large reddish tumor mass, throbbing and ugly and _fatal._ “It’s slightly increased its consistency,” Natasha says, carefully poking around it with her scalpel. “Vascularized soft tissue, significant blood collection and necrosis.” Natasha grimaces, deciding to proceed with a piecemeal tumor resection. She looks over to the resident, who seems to know exactly what she’s thinking as she nods, and they proceed.

It took them six hours. _Six_ hours inside the operating room, and the moment the last edematous tonsil was resected, Natasha lets out a sigh, closing her eyes as she throws her head back. Wanda looks at her mentor worriedly as Natasha opens her eyes and turns to her resident. “There was significant displacement of the brainstem. I think it did too much damage to be reversed,” Wanda says, and Natasha sighs and nods, putting the tools back on the metal tray beside her. “Frozen sections still indicate low grade glioma, but we were able to contain the hemorrhage, at least, and remove most of the tumor mass and edema.” she adds.

“We’ll have her under observation, still,” Natasha says, and Wanda nods. “Still put her under sedation after this, and remain the intubation, since I don’t think brain activities will have _that_ much of a significant improvement.” Wanda nods again, and Natasha sighs, giving the resident a small smile and a nod. “Still, great job for today, and thanks, everyone.” She looks at the nurses and the interns present, and they all nod at Natasha, who turns back to look at Wanda. “You’ll close up? I’ll talk to her kids.”

“Okay,” Wanda says, as Natasha steps away from her position so Wanda can take over. “Thanks, Doctor Romanoff.”

After scrubbing and disposing of her mask, Natasha steps out of the operating room and to the waiting room, spotting the three Buckwheat kids, who all stand as soon as they see her step out. Natasha gives them a small smile as she sighs, removing her surgical cap, and she turns to focus her eyes on the tallest among them—the eldest one, a beautiful blonde young woman, probably in her very early twenties, who so strikingly resembles Mara, and who reminds Natasha so much of her younger sister.

“Ava, right?” Natasha asks, remembering the eldest child’s name, whose name is also on the paper for permitting her mother to undergo surgery. The young woman nods, giving the doctor a small and nervous smile. Natasha gives the young woman a smile and a short nod. “We’ve mostly gotten the mass tumor, and the edema, though she would still need more time to recover, and we would still have to put her under monitoring. I don’t think she’s also gonna wake up anytime soon yet, so we’ll still put her in the ICU, have her intubated, but she’s still stable as of now. We’ve still detected a low-grade tumor in your Mom’s brain, and we’d have to wait on it before we can make any move against it, thus the constant monitoring.”

Ava is smiling now—that hopeful smile, despite the bad news Natasha had delivered about how there are _still_ tumors in her mother’s brain, and the fact that she hasn’t woken up yet. “So the surgery was a success?” she asks softly at Natasha, who nods.

“The surgery was a success, and you’ll be able to see her later,” she says, her eyes flickering to the other two Buckwheat kids, both significantly younger than Ava, yet definitely old enough to understand the situation. They are both also smiling widely up at her in gratitude. She smiles at both of them, especially as she watches Ava embrace her siblings. “Doctor Maximoff, the doctor earlier with wavy brown hair, she’ll come in here after she finishes closing up, and she’ll later guide you to where your Mom will be staying. I’ll swing by later to check all of you guys up, alright?” she says, and the three Buckwheat kids nod.

“Thank you, Doctor.” Ava says softly, sincerely, and Natasha feels the gratitude practically radiating off of the young woman that she smiles and nods.

“Alright, I’ll see you guys later.” she says, giving them a small wave, watching as the three embrace before she turns and walks off, releasing a sigh as she walks to the nurses’ station.

Natasha looks up at the clock, and sees that it’s already past lunchtime. Her mind wanders to where Steve and Sarah might be, as she asks the nurse for the records of the patients she’ll be seeing for checkup and monitoring. She gives her the names of her patients—all six of them lined up for today, mentally noting that she needs to at least make a quick run for the cafeteria to grab a snack before she proceeds with the checkups.

“Nat.” she hears a familiar, breathless voice call her. The nurse in charge behind the counter is just stacking her records up, when she turns, her eyes widening in surprise and confusion as she finds Steve walking towards her, carrying Sarah in his arms, the girl’s face buried in her father’s neck, her short arms wrapping around him tightly.

“Hey,” she says, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion as Steve stops right in front of her. His own eyebrows are furrowed in worry, eyes wide as if in helplessness, and when her eyes flicker over to their daughter, she hears her whimper and sniffle, her breathing hitched like she’s crying, squirming in Steve’s arms as if something is making her uncomfortable. “Everything okay? Wh-what are you doing here?”

Upon hearing her mother’s voice, Sarah slowly lifts her head from her father’s shoulder. Natasha starts to frown, her own heart breaking when she sees her daughter’s cheeks are flushed, her eyes glassy and filled with tears, and the toddler extends her arms over to her mother as she whimpers, and Natasha takes her, pressing her lips on her head as she smooths the girl’s hair. “What’s wrong, baby?” she asks softly, her eyes flickering over to Steve when the toddler just hiccups and whimpers in response, squirming in discomfort even in her mother’s arms. “You didn’t call?” she asks Steve.

“I called, but you weren’t picking up,” he tells her softly, shaking his head slightly. “You must’ve been in surgery.”

“What happened?” she asks, rubbing the girl’s back gently and soothingly, as if trying to quell whatever discomfort she is feeling, and at the same time, trying to quell _her_ own worries, push away unnecessary and negative thoughts inside her head. Steve sighs.

“We were playing in the park, running as usual, but she got really wiped out. She wanted to play more, stroll around more, but she seemed to be too tired after the fourth run...so we decided to head for lunch,” Steve starts to explain quietly, shaking his head slightly as if in worry. “Then she started crying, and she started asking for you, and…” Steve sighs and shakes his head. “Nat, I...I really think there’s something wrong.”

“Why, what’s...what’s wrong?” Natasha asks softly, almost afraid at what Steve’s answer will be even though in hindsight, she already does. She pulls the toddler closer to her chest, rubbing her back soothingly as she feels her small chest rise and fall quickly against hers. Rising and falling quickly—again, _too_ quickly for her liking, and while she’s tempted to assume that her breathing _will_ even out soon, she can’t deny hearing the small, gasped and hitched breaths her daughter is taking.

And between the two of them, Steve is the cardiologist here, a _trained,_ professional and _excellent_ one at that. He sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t...I can’t _say_ for sure, and I _don’t_ wanna say anything, but…” he trails off and shakes his head, his hand resting on Sarah’s back. “Nat, we’ve talked about this.” he tells her quietly.

Not really. Not _exactly._

It’s been a point of discussion between them for the longest time, ever since he had moved in, these conversations and discussions lengthening and getting more frequent as of late. But it was a point of discussion that Natasha did not _want_ to have, mostly because she claims she did not necessarily see the need, though in hindsight, it’s really mostly because she does not _want_ to need it, even though all the signs of her little girl _needing_ it were already there. Everything has been perfect, everything has been going well for her and for her little family, and she had wanted, for the longest time, to make it stay that way. She wants _everything_ to remain that way that she had nearly forgotten about the quick rising and falling of her daughter’s chest, that she had always so _easily_ brushed and shrugged off how easily tired she had been as of late, that she had been too complacent to think that her daughter’s lengthened sleeping time and fatigue are just so _normal,_ so negligible that she didn’t see the need to make a big deal out of it.

Which brings her to think of the _one_ thing she had long refused to think, the one thing she knows Steve is thinking, and the _one_ thing she knows will destroy this happy little world she had the pleasure of enjoying for a few months. “I know I’m not on duty, but I’ll check on her,” Steve says softly but also firmly, and Natasha looks at him worriedly, feeling the corners of her eyes stinging as he rests a hand on the small of her back. “Nat, I need to check—”

“What if there’s nothing wrong?” she asks quietly and in a small voice, shaking her head as she feels herself slowly starting to _lose_ it. Her grip around Sarah tightens instinctively, as if her embrace is enough to shield and protect this toddler from all harm, including her possible impending diagnosis, but she knows it to be futile. She knows her question to be wrong, to be _false,_ and every minute she spends denying it can worsen what her daughter is feeling but she just feels so frozen and helpless, and her heart is pounding loudly against her chest. “What if she’s just really tired?” she asks, her voice cracking slightly in the end as she swallows down her throat.

Steve sighs and shakes his head slowly. “Nat…” he says quietly, but Natasha stands her ground, looking up at him with wide, glassy eyes, her chin quivering with worry and anxiety yet also with stubborn and sheer determination to convince herself that maybe nothing is wrong. And maybe she’s right, but it’s better to still be sure. “Nat, this is Sarah—”

“Exactly,” she tells him firmly. “This is Sarah. Steve, she had gone through a heart surgery when she had been a _baby._ Her heart is already fixed, Steve, our little girl’s heart is already and is supposed to be fixed—”

“Exactly, Nat, she’s _our_ little girl. She’s our daughter,” he tells her softly and gently, and the corners of Natasha’s mouth quirk downwards, her bottom lip quivering in fear and utter worry. “She’s our daughter, and _maybe_ there’s something wrong and maybe there isn’t, but it’s better for us to be sure. I wanna be wrong, Nat, I _really_ do badly want to be wrong but…” He shakes his head slightly, taking a step closer towards her and resting both of his hands on her shoulders. “Let me take a look at her, please.” he whispers, almost pleadingly, almost as desperately as she is already feeling, and she feels her insides just constricting and cracking at the sheer possibility that there _is_ something wrong, and it’s something that’s in her heart.

It’s not a possibility as much as it is the reality. There _is_ something wrong, and Steve is here as Sarah’s father, Natasha’s lover, and a professional medical doctor to investigate it. Sarah whimpers again, and this time, Natasha feels something warm and wet in the crook of her neck—tears, which means her baby is experiencing more than just the discomfort but rather _pain._ She presses her lips on Sarah’s head, and looks up at Steve with wide, searching eyes, as if she can see it in his eyes the answer she needs, the assurance she wants, and the comfort she desires.

It's all there, present in his bright blue eyes that are glassy as ever as he looks back at her pleadingly, and when she gives him a short nod, she watches as he lets out a sigh of relief, leaning forward to press a kiss on her forehead. For a moment, she is her Steve—the worried and protective father of their little girl, Natasha’s assurer and lover, yet as quickly as it came, he snaps back into business, and he becomes Doctor Rogers once again.

He walks over to the nurses’ station. “Page Doctor Odinson, tell him to meet Doctor Romanoff and me in the test room beside the lounge,” he instructs, and one of the nurses nods. He places a hand on the small of Natasha’s back, leading them to the exam room. “I’m gonna order an ECG, but I want the test to be as urgent as possible. It’s the least I can do to check now since I can’t be her doctor, so I’ll be leaving it with Thor and Clint once we get the results.”

“S-shouldn’t we call on Carol too? She’s the one who operated on Sarah before,” Natasha says, fighting and failing to keep her voice even. Steve closes the door behind them as they enter the testing room, and he moves to start setting up the ECG machine. “If...if there’s really something in her heart—”

“It doesn’t necessarily reflect a mistake on what Carol had done before, with the surgeries performed to cure her TOF. It could be a complication that came out of it, but it doesn’t mean Carol didn’t do her job,” Steve tells her gently, and Natasha sighs, mum and nodding as she adjusts Sarah on her lap when Natasha sits on the examination table. Sarah whimpers, shaking her head and letting out a small choked sob (or a gasp...Natasha honestly can’t tell the difference anymore), wrapping her arms tightly around her mother, calling for her Mommy weakly as Natasha shushes softly, rubbing her baby’s back soothingly. “Hey, little girl. It’s just me and Mommy here, can you face Daddy for a bit?” Steve asks gently and softly, lowering to be in level with the girl’s eyes.

Sarah turns her head slightly to look at her father, and Steve’s heart breaks at how seemingly scared and small his daughter is. The toddler winces as she turns in her mother’s lap so she could face her father, albeit with difficulty at first. Steve notices this, and he frowns ever so slightly. “Something hurts, baby?” he asks gently, and it takes a moment before Sarah gives him a nod and a sniffle. He feels Natasha look at him, worriedly, anxiously and he so badly wants to remove the worry on her face, but he can only do _so_ much, especially when he still doesn’t know what he’s dealing with—what their little girl is going through.

“Can you point to Daddy where it hurts?” he asks softly, and Sarah whimpers, her bottom lip wobbling as a fresh wave of tears fill her eyes, and she squirms again in discomfort, her one hand resting on her chest. Natasha lets out a shaky sigh, and Steve purses his lips, his mind drifting to a _lot_ of possibilities that could arise from the toddler’s chest pains.

The door to the exam room opens, and Thor comes in. “Doctor Rogers? Isn’t it your day off?” the man asks, and Steve turns to him and nods.

“I am, which is why I’m calling you, and it’s about Sarah,” Steve explains, taking a step to the side, laying a hand on Natasha’s shoulder as Thor’s eyes flicker over to the little girl on Natasha’s lap, and on the ECG machine. “I can’t...I can’t work on family.” he says quietly, almost helplessly and with pleading eyes. Thor nods understandingly as he closes the door behind him, taking his stethoscope and putting it on, as he takes a seat on the chair beside the exam room table.

“Hey, Sarah. Mind if I take a look at you for a little bit?” Thor asks gently, and Natasha adjusts the toddler gently, who squirms but nonetheless complies as she does her best to sit still and straight, allowing Thor to rest his chest piece on the toddler’s chest. “Breathe in, please.” Thor says, looking away from them as if to focus on the sound.

The little girl takes a short breath, but quickly exhales, and Thor’s eyebrows furrow as he continues to move his chest piece. He looks back at the toddler, obviously having short and hitched breaths, her face scrunching as if every rise and fall of her chest pains her, and Steve has to clench his jaw and swallow down his throat to appear strong and actually _be_ strong. Because every wince Sarah gives out is already obviously destroying Natasha bit by bit, as her eyes become glassier, her lips pursed tightly as she does her best to hold back the tears threatening to fall. Steve squeezes Natasha’s shoulder lightly, as Thor looks up at Natasha, asks her to adjust Sarah a little so Thor can put the piece over the toddler’s back.

“Any medical history that we should know of? That of which concerns her heart or lungs, perhaps?” Thor asks gently, still listening as he moves the chest piece around.

“She had an operation for Tetralogy of Fallot when she was fifteen months,” Natasha says quietly, swallowing down her throat as she tightens her hold around Sarah a little tighter. “She was operated on in Hopkins. W-we could call in her doctor if it’s needed.”

Thor furrows his eyebrows again, and he removes his stethoscope, his eyes moving towards the ECG machine. “Has she been feeling easily tired recently? When she would...play, run around, do any strenuous activities like running?” he asks, looking over at both Steve and Natasha who look at each other. “Any heavy, rapid breathing that would last longer even if she’d recover?”

“She’s been feeling easily tired, yeah,” Steve responds, looking over at Natasha who looks away, pressing her lips on Sarah’s hair, and the toddler rests her head back on her mother’s chest, closing her eyes as if already tired from crying and everything that has happened. “Her breaths are quick and short too, like she’s always running out of it.”

“Also in her sleep,” Natasha adds quietly, looking up at Thor who nods, getting up from his seat to set up the ECG machine, and Steve assists him, as Natasha just watches them. “Is...is it something really bad? D’you find anything when you listened?” she asks Thor, who looks at Natasha and sighs.

“There are some irregularities, some fluttering,” Thor answers quietly, and it’s enough to make Natasha’s own heart beating fast. Thor starts to prepare and set up the machine as Natasha looks up at Steve who sighs, leaning down to press his lips on Natasha’s head. “Might have heard an arrhythmia, but I would want to double check it using ECG. If we do...detect something else…” Thor pauses, and he sighs, looking over at Sarah who is breathing deeply as she buries her face in her mother’s chest. “I might recommend her to stay here, so we’d have a proper EP study, perhaps by first thing tomorrow morning.”

Steve takes the electrodes, as Natasha slowly and gently removes Sarah’s coat. The toddler whimpers, opening her eyes as she looks up at her mother. “Sweetie, Uncle Thor and Daddy will just run some tests, okay?” Natasha asks gently. “So we could know what’s hurting you, okay? So we would know…” she trails off and purses her lips as she sighs, looking up at Steve who gives her a small nod.

“It won’t hurt, okay, sweetie?” Steve asks softly, and Sarah nods, resting back against her mother’s chest as Natasha slowly removes the toddler’s sweater, leaving her in her t-shirt underneath. Steve places the electrodes underneath Sarah’s shirt, as the toddler watches her father move, jolting slightly as she feels the electrodes come in contact with her skin. “Okay, Sarah?” Steve asks gently, and the toddler nods. She knows this, is familiar with this because she had gone through this when she was a baby. Still, Sarah grips her mother’s pants tight, and Natasha presses her lips on her head, just as Steve continues to put the electrodes on her chest.

Steve looks over at Thor and gives him a short nod. The attending surgeon then begins to operate on the machine, all while Steve and Natasha wait anxiously, even though they’re already sure of the possible results—that Sarah really _is_ due for an EP study the following day so they can further investigate on what’s been happening. With each moment, Natasha feels like she’s losing it, feels like she’s slipping and slowly swirling down. How could she have _not_ seen it? How could she be so blind, so selfish into being so absorbed and so focused on keeping everything _as is,_ on keeping everything unchanged that she had refused to see the symptoms even though it had been _so_ painfully obvious.

Steve had tried to tell her, and her own daughter had tried to tell her, too, with her lengthened sleeping time, quick breaths when sleeping and frequent waves of fatigue. How could she _not_ think that there was something wrong?

“I need Banner to take over,” Natasha says quietly, not looking up as she feels the two men’s eyes at her. “I have patients...one’s in post-op, I need him to take over for today.”

Natasha’s chin quivers, and her vision begins to blur as she looks up at Steve who sits beside her on the exam room table. She looks at him as he places his hand on her face, cupping her cheek gently, and brushing his thumb on her cheeks, and only when his thumb had brushed against her cheek did she realize that she _is_ crying, that the tears she had been holding back had fallen, and she can’t seem to stop. She can’t seem to stop, no matter how tightly she holds Sarah, and no matter how many times Steve would attempt to wipe her cheeks with his thumbs.

“Okay,” Steve says softly, leaning to press a kiss on her forehead, and she scrunches her face, the tears continuing to fall. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” Steve whispers, running his fingers through her hair before she pulls away, wiping her face with her own hand as Sarah looks up at her mother, the toddler frowning slightly in confusion when she sees her mother crying.

“Mommy?” Sarah asks softly, and Natasha sniffles as she looks down at her daughter, giving her the best smile she can give without feeling her heart constrict as she sees the electrode wires coming out of her shirt. Sarah frowns, the corners of her mouth quirking downward as she snuggles herself further in her mother’s arms. “Mommy, no sad.” she says quietly, and Natasha lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking her head as she feels her chest constricting further, tightening so much it’s hard to breathe without letting out a sob.

But as she had been when her daughter had been fifteen months old, she puts on the best smile, the happiest facade she can muster. Whatever she can do to make her daughter smile, to make it hurt for her a little less, she’ll do it. She’ll do it in a heartbeat, even if it _kills_ her.

“‘M okay, baby.” Natasha says softly and soothingly, still feeling as if she’s being ripped apart slowly even as she says otherwise, but she fights. She fights against the feeling, and tries to pull herself together because she refuses to see how _this_ could be the end of paradise for her.

It isn’t. _Right?_

“We’re okay, hm? You, me and Daddy, we’re okay.” She looks up at Steve, and while she sees the hesitation swirl in the eyes of her lover, he still nods, giving both of them a small and reassuring smile, especially as Steve leans down to press a kiss on Sarah’s forehead.

“We’re okay.” he repeats softly.

Thor clears his throat, disrupting the moment between the three of them, and they all turn their attention to him. He’s holding up the ECG results, the piece of paper that he tears from the roll and he looks at them with sad and worried eyes, confirming what they already know, what they don’t necessarily _want_ to hear yet somehow _need_ to hear. Because it’s Thor’s job to tell them, and it’s _their_ responsibility to know.

“She’s tachycardiac,” Thor tells them, and despite already knowing, Natasha starts feeling the entire weight of the world crashing down on her. For the _second_ time, she has heard about how her daughter’s heart is beating too fast, too irregularly to be deemed normal. “I recommend proceeding with an EP study first thing tomorrow morning to be able to know more about this, since it could mean anything.” He pauses. “But you mentioned earlier that she was operated for tetralogy of fallot...more than a year ago?” Natasha nods, and Thor nods as well. “Then that may narrow the possibilities, and I can assure you, whatever it is, it’s nothing we can’t handle.”

Steve nods, and Natasha moves to remove the electrodes from Sarah’s chest, as she peers at her parents. “Will I stay in hospital?” she asks softly, her eyes wide, glassy and tired, yet imploring, as she might have deduced from the tests done to her, and probably from the conversations her parents are having with her Uncle Thor.

Steve sighs, looking over at Natasha who looks down and away from him. He nods and meets his little girl’s eyes, giving her a small and sad smile. “Yeah, baby. You’ll be staying in the hospital, but don’t worry ‘cause me and Mommy will stay with you, alright?” he asks softly, and Sarah hums, tilting her head to the side as if in question before she relents with a nod.

“You and Mommy...be my doctors?” she asks in a small voice. “You, Mommy, save life?”

_Will you and Mommy be able to save my life?_

But of course, her toddler didn’t mean that. It’s merely an innocent question, one that came from the mouth of a toddler, who’s probably just simply asking if _they’re_ the doctors assigned to her case, if _they_ will be the ones who have the responsibility of saving her life by operating her. Their little girl doesn’t know of any oaths that they had taken after passing the boards, and didn't know of any ethical boundaries that limit them from working on their family members. She doesn’t know of the dilemma and stress both of her parents are currently having—of the urge Steve has to be _her_ main doctor, and of the sheer stress Natasha is feeling of having to go through this _again,_ and of not seeing it, and of not _believing_ in it. She doesn’t know any of it, and she’s only ever just asking if her parents, whom she knows are both _doctors_ in the hospital tasked with saving hundreds of people’s lives in both of their careers, are tasked to be _her_ doctors, the ones who would save _hers_ this time.

But still, no matter how innocent it may seem to the toddler’s ears, and to the way she meant the question to come out, it still weighs heavily on the both of them, her question hanging above their heads like a heavy raincloud pending a storm. It _feels_ like so, though. It feels like they are in a storm, where neither of them can catch a break from the curveballs the universe is throwing over at them.

Is that what they deserve? Only _moments_ of happiness, one that can’t even be completely theirs and completely permanent?

“Uncle Thor will be your doctor, sweetie,” Steve responds softly, and Sarah looks up at her uncle as he gives the toddler a small smile. “And he’s _good,_ really good. He’ll take really good care of you, alongside me and Mommy.”

Thor hums and smiles when the toddler looks up at him, and he messes with the little girl’s hair as she giggles softly, the sound of her giggles automatically dispersing the tension off of the room, as it brought smiles to all of the attendings’ faces. Thor looks at both Steve and Natasha. “I might bring in someone from peds, perhaps Doctor Carter as she’s inclining towards pediatric cardio,” he tells them, as he fixes the ECG machine, putting it back in its place as he lifts the result in his hand, and both of them nod in approval. “In the meantime, well...I’ll be treating you like any of my patients’ families, and I’ll be coming with you to the admitting office after I page Doctor Carter. I’ll be back in a while, just leave you both here for a moment.”

Steve nods, and Thor steps out of the exam room for a moment while Natasha busies herself in helping Sarah put her sweater back on, as well as her coat. She smooths the toddler’s hair, and the little girl takes a deep breath and turns to her mother. “Mommy, you stay?” she asks softly.

Natasha nods her head. “I’ll stay with you, sweetie, Mommy’s not gonna go to work for a while, okay? Not until you get well,” she says, pressing a kiss on her daughter’s forehead as she pulls her sweater and coat down gently. She lifts Sarah to her hip as she stands from the exam room table, and the toddler rests her head back on her mother’s shoulder. She then turns to Steve. “I just have to make a few calls and arrangements. I don’t think I’ll be able to work today until tomorrow...not until she gets well.” she tells him quietly and he nods.

“I can go to the admission office. We’ll just meet you in the PICU later,” he says, and Natasha nods again. “Do you want me to take her?” Steve asks quietly, and Natasha hesitates for a moment before transferring the toddler over to Steve. Sarah hums, wrapping her arms around her father’s neck as she buries her face in the crook of his neck. She takes short, deep breaths, and Natasha just sighs.

“How did this happen…” she whispers, rubbing her hand on the toddler’s back as Steve sighs, using his other arm to pull her close, and Natasha whimpers, burying her face in his neck as she lets out a shaky sigh, allowing a few tears to fall as he presses his lips on her head. How did this happen? How can everything just be put together one day, be so perfect one day, and be crumbling and crashing the next? _We were just happy, and everything was just perfect._

Everything was _just_ perfect.

Steve presses another kiss on the crown of her head, as he rubs her back with his free hand. “You heard what Thor said, hm? It’s nothing he can’t handle, nothing _we_ can’t handle,” he says softly, and Natasha sniffles as she looks up at Steve, and he slides his hand up to brush the tears from her cheeks. “We’ll never know, it might just be something easily fixed with a few medications, right? Or something non-invasive, nothing that would require a surgery.”

Speaking like he’s _not_ a cardiac surgeon himself. Given his daughter’s medical history, the exhibited symptoms and the ECG results, this isn’t just a condition easily fixed with a few medications, nor is it something that would _not_ require a surgery. It’s something serious, something that can be done, yes, but still serious, and the excellent cardiac surgeon in him knows that. But at least right now, he isn’t one. Right now, he’s Natasha’s lover, her anchor and rock, and he is Sarah’s father, who needs him to be strong for her more than ever, needs him to be in the right mind to help the doctors decide what is good and what would be better for her.

Right now, his family needs him. His girls need him, and when he promised himself that he will do anything to protect them, to make sure they are happy and healthy, he means it, and he’s determined to keep that promise.

On the other hand, she feels herself slipping away. She’s _losing_ it, definitely losing it, as she slowly feels numb from head to toe, feeling as if she’s floating inside the room even if she’s being anchored down by Steve’s embrace. “I gotta go,” she says quietly, pulling away from Steve as she wipes her face with her hands, making sure it’s dry enough to at _least_ look a little bit presentable, put-together unlike the reality of what she’s really feeling. “I gotta go.” she says again. And she’s losing it, _definitely_ losing it, as she looks down, unwilling to look at her daughter or Steve because if she _wants_ to gather her shit together so she could at least gather a bit of dignity and _not_ burst into tears before she calls up Doctor Banner and dump all of her patients on him, before she could face Wanda and the Buckwheat kids and tell them their mother would have to be transferred to another doctor’s hands because she’s unavailable.

“Nat…” Steve says quietly, but Natasha has already turned away from them, feeling her chest constricting so tightly once more at what she did—at _walking away_ so quickly. But she has things to do, things to take care of before she can face them once again, and she needs to _breathe,_ because if she won’t, then it would just hurt more, and if she won’t, then she’s going to run out of energy to put on a brave and happy face.

Her little girl needs her to be both of those, but what would she do if she wasn’t _either?_

So she takes her time. No, she doesn’t call Doctor Banner, nor does she tell the Buckwheat kids that their mother is gonna be transferred to another doctor’s hands, as the latter could wait until tonight, perhaps. But she _did_ tell Wanda, who had looked at her with wide eyes as if she’s insane (and in hindsight, she’s honestly _feeling_ like she is), telling her to go back to the PICU and be with her family. But she can’t, can she? Which is why she’s here, and which is why she’s working instead of just holding her baby’s hand while she lies on the hospital bed. She doesn’t take her phone with her, knowing very well Steve had practically left messages and missed calls, and instead relies on Wanda’s phone whenever someone would page for her.

She functions mechanically, as if on autopilot mode, not even minding the fact that she hadn’t eaten lunch yet, and not allowing the thoughts of Steve or Sarah probably looking for her overwhelm her. She can’t, not when she’s trying her best to distract herself, to gather enough strength to put it together, to _not_ fall apart because she’s not allowed to. In moments like these, just like the last time, she is _not_ at all allowed to fall apart, because if she does, then everything else will fall apart. And she _can’t_ have everything fall apart just like that, especially _not_ when she just started to love life even more, especially when it had just become perfect.

It was just so perfect this morning. How the _hell_ did everything go so wrong?

“I really think you should go, go where Sarah and Doctor Rogers are,” Wanda tells her mentor as they reach the nurses’ station after their fourth patient. _Two to go._ Natasha sighs and returns the four records over to the counter, biting her bottom lip as her eyes flicker over to the clock above the station. It’s been two hours since Steve had gone down to admissions, and she’s _sure_ that if she checks her phone, he’d already sent her the room number of where they are. “I can call in Doctor Banner, and he can take over. And don’t worry about Mara Buckwheat, I’m sure—”

“Mara Buckwheat right now is on the top of our priority list, Wanda, remember surgical patients in the ICU always come in _first_ before postoperative patients who are recovering just fine,” Natasha says, and the resident sighs, giving her mentor a short nod. “I’m not confident about the outcome of her surgery earlier, and I’m expecting bleeding given the next couple of days so we might open her up again. We need to monitor her extra closely, and we need to make sure her kids are also monitored closely as well.”

Wanda hesitates for a moment before she shakes her head and sighs. “You don’t have to make an appearance to Mara’s routine checkup for tonight,” Wanda points out quietly, and Natasha furrows her eyebrows slightly as she looks at her resident. “Nat, Sarah needs you—”

“Sarah has Steve for today.” she murmurs in dismissal, even though she looks away when her heart starts to clench.

“Well, then he needs you too. In times like these, you said it yourself before, family’s the most important.” Wanda says, and Natasha huffs out a breath as she shakes her head.

“I _know,_ Wanda, but I…” she trails off, and she shakes her head as she slowly feels the fresh wave of tears filling her eyes. She swallows down the bile rising in her throat, holding back the tears and refusing them to fall. “I can’t.”

Wanda frowns, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. “You _can’t?”_ she repeats, and Natasha looks up at her resident and clenches her jaw.

“I can’t.” she repeats.

“Well, why _not—”_

“Because I just _can’t,_ Wanda!” she all but explodes, only exclaiming into a definite volume that’s not enough to make a scene, yet enough to startle the resident, and all the staff nearby. “I _can’t_ go in there because I _can’t_ find the strength in me to put on a brave and happy face that I know I should just so I can pretend everything’s fine when it’s _not!_ I’m _tired_ of always being the _first_ one to head into the fight and having to be strong enough to bear the brunt of reality, when all I want is to just—for a _second—_ pretend that my boyfriend and my daughter are in the park playing and running around happily, instead of being cooped up in the PICU and having a _repeat_ of what happened to her the last time!”

She pauses, her voice cracking by the end as Wanda just looks at her sympathetically and with understanding that it’s annoying because she doesn’t want her pity. She doesn’t want _anyone’s_ pity! “I just _want,_ for a second, to pretend that everything's still _fine,_ and everything is still perfect, and _nothing_ is crumbling or crashing. I just want to pretend that I _still_ live in that kind of world, Wanda, so _please_ don’t tell _me_ to go up there because as much as I know that I need to, and as much as it’s killing me every damn second to want to be with Steve and be with Sarah, I _can’t_ do it,” she continues, a tear slipping from her eyes as she wipes it quickly with the back of her hand and she sniffles. “I can’t do it yet. Not like this. Not now.”

There’s a moment of pause, and for a moment she thought the whole room had gotten quiet after her sudden outburst. But she sees in her peripherals people still passing, still talking to each other as if _nothing_ had happened. And it’s what still frustrates her the most, she supposes, is the fact that even though she feels her world crumbling and crashing, even though she’s doing her best to just _keep_ it together even though she’s slowly slipping and losing, the world around her still goes on. She barely hears the murmurs of the people around her, those minding their own business, those who have their shit gathered together while she’s here struggling to even attempt to keep hers together, instead relenting on pretending for a couple of moments that everything is okay when it’s not.

It’s another reminder for her to keep going, that she doesn’t have _time_ to break and gather strength because the world isn’t gonna wait for her. Sarah’s sickness isn’t gonna wait for her, and Steve needing her isn’t gonna wait either. She has to be strong _now,_ or her world will just continue to crash harder and faster than she would ever allow herself to be ready for.

But what if she just...can’t?

“Nat…” She turns her head and finds Steve with Doctor Banner beside him, both of them looking at her worriedly and sadly— _well,_ Bruce Banner is looking at her worriedly, surprise and confusion evident in his eyes, while Steve just looks at her sadly and worriedly. She wonders if he’s heard everything she told Wanda—those words she couldn’t bear to tell him out loud, those words that would probably explain why she’s _here,_ instead of in the PICU with them.

Bruce clears his throat, and he looks at Steve then at both Wanda and Natasha as he takes a few steps towards Natasha. “I, uh...I got a call from Doctors Maximoff and Rogers, and I’m, uh...I’m here to take over for the rest of the day,” he says, looking at his watch then letting out a small shrug. “If you’ve still got patients to spare. I’ve also read your post-op patient’s case, and I can take over tonight’s monitoring.”

Natasha swallows down her throat and takes a shaky breath. “Doctor Banner—” she starts, but her mentor lifts a hand to stop her, giving her a gentle smile.

“It’s okay, Nat. If it would mean as much, I’ll send in her progress by tomorrow morning, so you can take a good look at it once you have everything settled,” Bruce says, his eyes flickering over to Steve, who has walked over beside Natasha, resting a hand on the small of her back as she sighs, biting her bottom lip and instinctively leaning towards his touch. “I, uh…” he hesitates, and instead relents on shaking his head, probably deciding to not proceed with whatever it is that he’s gonna say. “I’ll make sure to update you with everything really soon.”

Natasha pauses, just looking at her mentor in the eyes before giving him a nod. She then looks over at Wanda, who is looking at her apologetically, and she sighs, closing her eyes and running her fingers through her hair, pursing her lips before she looks back at Bruce. “Take Wanda with you? With all the patients?” she asks quietly, and Bruce nods.

“Of course,” he responds softly, giving his mentee a gentle smile and a short nod. “It’s okay, Nat. You can go.”

She doesn’t want to, because going means faking her strength to appear okay. She isn’t. She’s slowly losing and slipping and she doesn’t know where to hold on to so she could stop herself from doing so. But she nods, nonetheless, and she feels Steve tugging her gently, his arm wrapping around her waist as she follows him. In a futile attempt to get herself together, she leans and melts to him, and he presses his lips on her hair. She lets out a sigh and closes her eyes, trusting and allowing Steve to guide her through to the hallway and into the elevators.

And she expects him to say something, _anything._ She expects to hear from him about her not picking up his calls, or her not responding to his texts, or _her_ running off and not showing up once he and Sarah got settled in the PICU. She expects to see the glint of sadness in his eyes, one that would plead her to stay, to ask why she didn’t just call Doctor Banner instead of her attending to her patients, but he doesn’t do any of that. When they step inside the elevator, Steve tips her chin up with his two fingers, and her eyes meet his glassy blue ones, those filled with worry and all sorts of other emotions that had probably arisen from the situation too. She feels slightly guilty for running off, leaving him to probably speak with Thor and Sharon of tomorrow’s procedures, and leaving him to deal with the reality of what their daughter would be facing.

But he doesn’t say any of those, doesn’t even let her _feel_ any of those, especially when he leans down to press a soft kiss on her lips, and she kisses him back, letting out a small whimper against his mouth as she wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him even closer to her. It’s the closest semblance she can get of the perfection she had just been living in earlier today—him being here, him being closer to her, him holding her so delicately and tightly, him kissing her so softly and passionately. It’s enough to make her emotional, for the tears already filling in her eyes to almost fall but she _can’t_ let it fall. So she pulls away, and he rests his forehead against hers as she releases a shaky breath, closing her eyes as she holds on to the collars of his coat tight—as if _he’s_ the one that can hold her together.

The elevator doors open, and Steve lets one hand fall to intertwine his fingers with hers, leading her out of the elevator, into the PICU floor and to where Sarah’s room is. She spots Sharon inside, sitting beside Sarah who is already out of her clothes and wearing a hospital gown. When Steve opens the door, Sharon looks up and gets up from her seat, and Natasha finds her toddler already fast asleep, an IV already connected to her small hand, her chest rising and falling quickly as she takes short and deep breaths, her complexion slightly pale, and her eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly.

She wonders if she’s still in pain, if breathing, for her, still hurts.

“I, uh...should probably reiterate what I already told Steve,” Sharon cuts straight to the chase, and Natasha looks up at her old friend, who gives her a small and sad smile. “We’ll be doing the EP tomorrow morning at eight, so I recommend that Sarah be woken up tonight too, between eight to ten in the evening so she could have something to eat and drink. We’ve also administered blood thinners, antiarrhythmic medications too. We’ll be administering her anaesthesia tomorrow before we start.”

Natasha just swallows down her throat and nods, and she practically levitates towards the side of Sarah’s bed, on the seat Sharon had been occupying, so she could brush away some of the hair from her toddler’s face, and lean down to press a small and gentle kiss on her forehead. She could barely hear Sharon murmuring something to Steve, probably telling him she should go, but Steve tells her something, and soon after, she feels a hand on her shoulder, and when she looks up she finds Steve looking at her.

“I’ll head home for a bit, so I can get our stuff,” he tells her softly, brushing off some hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear. “I’ll go get us some food too. If you want me to buy anything…” he trails off, and Natasha shakes her head as Steve gives her a small nod. He leans down to press a kiss on her head, and then on Sarah’s forehead, his eyes lingering on their sleeping toddler as he looks back at Natasha. “I’ll be right back.”

She nods again as she leaves, and her eyes flicker over to Sharon who just stays put where she is by the foot of Sarah’s bed. “You don’t have patients?” Natasha asks quietly, and Sharon looks back at her and shrugs.

“I do,” she responds quietly, walking over to sit on the couch beside the door of the room. “But I wanted to stay here for a while, keep you company while Steve’s out.”

Natasha clenches her jaw and gives Sharon a tight smile. “I’m fine.” she says tersely, and the corner of Sharon’s mouth quirk upwards into a small smirk as she shakes her head and sighs.

“I’ve known you for years, Nat, and I’ve seen your ups and downs...well, you’ve mostly had ups, but I was there in your downs too,” Sharon says, tilting her head to the side as Natasha huffs out a small chuckle. The blonde woman pauses for a moment, as if regarding Natasha. “What is it?” she asks softly.

_What is what?_

She blinks in response, and Sharon’s lips curved up into a smile. “What’s inside that head of yours? So much that you decided to push through working despite knowing your daughter’s in the process of confinement, and so much so that it’s enough for Steve to understand and even _he_ can’t find it in himself to disturb you until Doctor Banner came in?” she asks, and Natasha sighs, looking away from her as she fixes her eyes on her clasped hands resting on her lap.

She lifts her head and looks straight ahead of her, in the empty space just at the foot of Sarah’s bed. “When she was brought in here two years ago for TOF, when she was fifteen months old, she could barely speak. So I didn’t know...about which parts of her hurt, or what’s...what’s wrong. I could only pick the clues up from her short breaths, changing appetites and when she cries,” she starts quietly, and Sharon waits for her patiently, giving her a nod even though she knows Natasha can’t see it. “And it was _hard._ I was a new mom, and...I was just all over the place, you know? There I was, trying to figure out motherhood, trying to juggle between work and being a mom, even if my daughter was already a year old, and then _this_ thing happens. It took me a while to figure it out, and when I did...when I knew that I _couldn’t_ be the one to save her and operate on her, I told myself that I would just do anything I can to make sure that my little girl still stays happy.”

She gives a sad smile as she looks at Sharon, and she nods slightly, her eyes glassy as she looks away from her again. “So I would always do my best to be brave in front of her, and be strong and be happy. Because I always thought that she shouldn’t see me crumble, and she shouldn’t see me cry because it would only make her upset if I do,” she says, and a tear slips from her eyes as she wipes it off quickly with the back of her hand. “And even if I would, when she would end up asleep, there’s literally _nobody_ else there so…” _Nobody else to catch me, nobody else to be strong for me._ She shakes her head, and manages a tight smile despite the corners of her mouth quirking down into a frown as tears begin to fill her eyes again. “I had to be strong for her, and for myself, because if I don’t, then nobody else will.”

Sharon shakes her head. “Nat, I don’t think this will be like before—” she starts to say, and Natasha furrows her eyebrows slightly.

“You don’t _know_ that,” Natasha interrupts, her voice quiet but firm, as she looks at Sharon who sighs and purses her lips together. “I mean, we don’t even know what _this_ one is gonna be, and—”

“I don’t mean for Sarah, Nat,” Sharon interrupts gently, giving her a small smile as Natasha furrows her eyebrows slightly in confusion. “I meant for _you._ This isn’t like the one that happened before, when you had been alone, and you had to face this alone with Sarah.”

She pauses slightly, as if waiting for Natasha to say something, _anything,_ that would prompt her to stop but she doesn’t, as she just continues to stare at her friend, her vision blurring as tears start to fill her eyes. “Look, I can only...I can only imagine the things you’ve gone through before—the first time Sarah got admitted in the hospital, the fear you experienced especially since you were alone. And I can only imagine the reality of it is far greater than what words would allow to portray,” she continues, and Natasha looks away from her friend as she nods. “But I know...and _maybe_ perhaps I can assure you that this time, it’s gonna be different. It might not be _medically_ different for Sarah’s condition, but with _you_ it’s gonna be different. Because _this_ time, you’re not alone anymore. You don’t _have_ to distract yourself doing other things just so you can gather enough courage and energy to appear brave and happy all the time. And even when Sarah falls asleep, you don’t _have_ to hold it in. This time, it’s _alright_ to let yourself slip for a few moments, to let yourself feel the panic and anxiety of all of this because _now,_ you have Steve.” Sharon pauses for a moment, and gives Natasha a small smile. “And Steve _loves_ you, and I’m sure that _that_ man is willing to go down and gather you up should you actually need to break and fall.”

She knows. Or does she?

“And you said before that you never allow yourself to break even after Sarah falls asleep, because nobody is there to catch you? Nat, you have a whole _village_ in this hospital,” she continues, her smile widening and her eyes sparkling brightly. “You have Steve, and you have Thor, you have Clint, Bobbi, Bucky, Wanda, Doctor Banner...and you have _me._ We’re all here to catch you when you _want_ to fall, so you don’t have to be afraid if you feel like doing so. And I’m sure as hell that if you _do,_ Steve will be the first one to catch you. So you don’t have to be afraid, and you don’t have to hide it for yourself any longer. You have us.”

Natasha smiles, her eyes glassy as she nods, both in understanding and gratitude as she drinks in all of what Sharon had said. But it fades as quickly as it came in, and her chin quivers as she sniffles, looks away from Sharon as she trains her eyes on her lap. “But _I_ left them alone today,” she says quietly, and Sharon sighs and purses her lips together. “I knew they needed me, but I left them alone, because I couldn’t…” she trails off and shakes her head, looking up at Sharon who gives her an understanding nod.

“Sometimes, we just need a little time for ourselves—to think things over and just...be, you know,” she tells her quietly. “Especially in times when we can’t believe the things that are happening to us really _are_ happening to us.” Sharon gives her an assuring smile. “It doesn’t make you any less of a Mom, nor does it make you any less of a girlfriend.”

Sharon stays with her, and a comfortable silence settles between them. An hour passes, and Sharon’s phone beeps inside the pocket of her coat. She pulls it out and checks it, and she lets out a little sigh. “Well, duty calls,” she says, and Natasha nods, watching as the pediatric surgeon gets up and takes a step towards Natasha, giving her a gentle smile. “If anyone can get through this alive, without breaking and without falling, it’s _you,_ Nat—it’s you and Steve, especially with the way you hold on to each other, and the way you gather strength for and from each other. You’ll get through this together. You’re not alone in this anymore.”

 _Not alone anymore. Never alone anymore._ She kinda likes the sound of that.

Natasha nods, giving Sharon a small and grateful smile. “Thanks, Sharon.” she says softly, and Sharon extends her arms, as Natasha stands and the two embrace, as Sharon rubs Natasha’s back soothingly, murmuring words of encouragement to her friend, and telling her that she’s not alone.

It takes a few more moments after Sharon had left, perhaps another half hour or so, before the door to Sarah’s room opens, and Steve comes in, with two bags of takeout in one hand, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, and her bag containing her things slung over the other. _He must’ve gotten it from the locker,_ she thinks, since he might have thought she would refuse to leave Sarah’s bedside now to retrieve all her stuff. He gives her a gentle smile as he closes the door gently behind him.

“I passed by the lounge and got your things, since I figured you wouldn’t wanna go down anymore,” he says, and she smiles at that because of _course_ he did. “I got us some clothes—sweats, underwear, shirts—though I’m not sure if I got the right ones for you, I was in a rush. You can borrow some of my shirts if you don’t like what I’ve gotten.” He smiles sheepishly, putting both bags down on the couch as Natasha chuckles softly. “And I bought some burgers and fries from Burger King for the both of us, and a nugget meal for the little one for her dinner later.”

Steve sets the paper bags down on the table, on the other side of Sarah’s bed. Natasha takes a moment, before she gets up from her seat, walking over to where Steve is, as she wraps her arms around him, pressing her forehead on his back as he tenses slightly in surprise for a moment, before relaxing, his hands settling on her arms as she pulls him tighter towards her. Steve turns his head slightly to look at her, letting out a soft smile as he turns his body in her arms, enveloping Natasha in a tight embrace as she buries her face in his chest. He presses his lips on her head, closing his eyes as he rubs her back soothingly, in an idle pattern he knows that she loves as she lets out a shaky sigh.

“‘M sorry,” she murmurs. His hand drawing patterns on her back pauses for a moment, as if Steve is lost and confused as to _why_ she’s apologizing, and she begins to imagine his knit eyebrows and slight frown on his mouth. But he begins to catch on, she supposes, when he squeezes her a little tighter, his hand resuming the idle patterns on her back. “‘M really sorry.” she repeats, peering up at him as he shakes his head.

“It’s okay,” Steve says softly, lifting both of his hands to cup her jaw, his thumbs brushing her cheeks, wet with the tears she hadn’t realized had already fallen. “It’s okay. And I know.” he tells her softly, because _of course,_ he does. It’s practically written all over her face, whatever it is that’s wrong, and whatever it is that she’s apologizing for. And for what it’s worth too, he just knows her _that_ well for him to understand the unsaid explanation, so _of course,_ he knows, and he forgives her for it.

Natasha whimpers as she sniffles and Steve gives her a reassuring smile as he presses a soft kiss on her forehead, one hand falling on the small of her back, his arm wrapping around her waist to pull her closer to him. “We’ll get through this, okay?” he tells her, pulling away slightly to look at her and meet her eyes, and she sighs as she nods, her arms around him tightening, squeezing him closer towards her. “I’m here, and we’ll get through this together.” he adds, leaning down to press a light and chaste kiss on her lips as she nods again, a little noise coming out at the back of her throat as she kisses him back, before burying her face again in his chest.

She doesn’t know what tomorrow is gonna bring; what the outcome of tomorrow’s EP study will be, what’s wrong with their daughter’s heart, what the procedures will be, and what the following days will be like for all three of them. She’s not at all certain anymore if she still believes in the fact that everything around her is perfect, but she figures that she had been wrong earlier when she thought that the entire world around her is crumbling down. It’s not. Sharon was right: she isn’t alone in all of this. And as Steve presses her closer to his chest, as if holding her together, shielding her and protecting her, she knows that perhaps one of the reasons why perhaps the world isn’t crumbling down around her is because he’s also there holding it together _with_ her.

_If anyone can get through this alive, without breaking and without falling, it’s you, Nat—it’s you and Steve, especially with the way you hold on to each other, and the way you gather strength for and from each other._

Maybe there _are_ still bits of perfection in this life, however small these bits and pieces are. Natasha opens her eyes and looks over at Sarah, at her peaceful albeit weak form on the bed, and while uncertainty still lies ahead, she holds on to the strength Steve continues to give her through this embrace, as if telling her even without words that things _will_ be alright. That maybe, perhaps, the sun could still rise on them again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think! thanks, everyone, and keep safe wherever you are!


	19. Best Shot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow @ strike 2 of being on time! yay anyway i just wanna say thank you to everyone who still continues to read, leave comments and kudos. i appreciate each and everyone of you! so ya hope you enjoy this one!

“No, you don’t understand —”

“No,  _ you _ don’t understand, Steve, and  _ you  _ are overstepping your boundaries—”

“I am absolutely  _ not _ overstepping my boundaries, you are going to operate on  _ my _ daughter so I think I have a say on which technique I would like  _ you _ to work on my daughter—”

“Doctor Rogers, I highly think that at this point, it is more appropriate to wait for the human donor of the valve—”

“We don’t have  _ time _ for that!”

Natasha closes her eyes and sighs, turning her head to nuzzle her nose in Sarah’s hair. The toddler had just fallen asleep merely moments before Steve, Sharon and Thor had stepped out of the room, after they conducted the EP study and the toddler hadn’t fully gotten her complete hours of sleep (plus the anaesthesia was taking over), and Natasha decided to stay with her daughter while Steve would hear out Sharon and Thor’s findings and whatever steps they would take proceeding this.

Steve told her he would  _ hear out _ the two doctors, as in  _ listen _ to them. She didn’t think  _ hearing out _ will also imply arguing or shouting within earshot of the room.

The toddler whimpers softly and stirs, and Natasha shushes her softly, humming a tune in an attempt to tone down the ongoing argument outside the room, while she brushes the toddler’s hair gently, her fingers running through her hair as she inches herself closer to the girl. Sarah settles, her face buried in Natasha’s chest, her sleep undisturbed, and Natasha sighs when she still hears Steve’s raised voice outside, as well as Sharon’s agitated tone and Thor’s loud and booming voice. Perhaps they’re still arguing about the pre-discussed technique they’ll be using—where they’ll wait for a homograft from a donor so the surgery would take place, and while Natasha personally thinks it’s a good choice, especially since she  _ prefers _ Sarah to have a new healthy proper heart valve to replace her sickly one, Steve doesn’t think so.

And she supposes she  _ should _ trust Steve, and she  _ does. _ She trusts him with all her heart, because why shouldn’t she? He knows better about Sarah’s condition, knows the medicine and the science, the reason and logic behind all of it better than she does—which is the primary reason why she had been content with lying beside Sarah, wallowing in her emotions and revelling in Steve’s care while he does most of the talking and the errands.

Natasha presses her lips on Sarah’s head, her fingers continually brushing through her hair while she hears the loud murmurs coming from outside of the room. She sighs, choosing to block out the noise and instead focusing on her daughter’s soft and quick breaths. Though she is fully aware of the fact that her breathing isn’t as normal as she hoped, or as normal as any kid should breathe, breaths are still signs of life, and as long as life still runs through her little girl’s body, then there is still hope. She chooses to hold on to that—the hope Sarah brings.

The murmurs later die down, and she expects the door to the room to be opening and closing, a sign of her boyfriend entering back into the room so he can take his place back on the seat beside the bed, but she doesn’t hear anything. She lifts her head, her eyes flickering over to the closed door, with no more voices behind it as she figures perhaps they had taken the conversation elsewhere. But she figures Steve would come in, tell her where they would be going should they leave the room. She slowly gets up from the bed, making sure she doesn’t disturb Sarah’s nap as she pulls her cardigan closer to her, and she pads her way to the door, turning the knob and finding Steve by the hallway, his head low and his hands tucked in the pockets of his sweatpants.

“Steve?” she calls softly, and Steve looks back, his clenched jaw relaxing upon seeing her as he sighs, giving her a small smile. She closes the door behind her. “What happened? Where are Thor and Sharon?”

“They stepped out a bit. I think I...I think I might have overstepped a little.” Steve admits quietly and Natasha sighs, taking a step closer to Steve and shaking her head slightly.

“Steve, their initial plan...it’ll work. Sarah’s a  _ good _ candidate for homograft transplantation—”

“But we don’t have  _ time, _ Nat,” Steve interrupts her gently but firmly, his eyes wide and pleading as he looks at Natasha. “We don’t have time, Sarah doesn’t have time to wait—”

“Don’t say that,” she whispers, shaking her head, and Steve sighs, ducking his head as he closes his eyes. “She still has time.”

“Nat, she doesn’t have  _ much _ time or it’ll get worse—”

“That’s not what it says in the EP—”

“It’s  _ exactly _ what it says in the EP, Nat. It’s  _ exactly _ what it said—that Sarah needs to have her aortic valve replaced immediately because she has a leaky valve,” Steve says, and Natasha shakes her head slowly. “Sarah doesn’t have the luxury of time—”

“See,  _ that’s _ it,” Natasha says, lifting a finger to point at Steve. “That, there?  _ That’s _ the reason even the greatest surgeons are not allowed to operate or interfere with their family’s medical procedures, because of  _ this, _ because of  _ you, _ doing that.” she continues firmly, and Steve furrows his eyebrows slightly and blinks, and only then does he notice her glassy eyes slowly filling with tears. “I know you are a great cardiologist, Steve, and an  _ amazing _ and excellent cardiac surgeon but right now, you are in  _ no _ full mental and emotional capacity to be either right now as long as your  _ daughter _ is the one who is going to end up on the table.”

“You  _ have _ to trust me, Nat, _ please,” _ Steve continues to plead, his voice barely above a whisper, as Natasha lets out a sigh, looking away from him as Steve rests his hands on her shoulders, rubbing her upper arms. “I know what I’m saying, and I  _ know _ there are other better ways of treating Sarah without having to wait for her name to be up on the transplant list. Think about it, mechanical valves are better in functionality than homografts, and these valves can be...can be done and we can get the surgery done in no time.” He pauses, and he sighs. “And if we’re about to speak numbers, homografts function just like normal heart valves do, and those transplanted can still undergo structural degeneration. Let’s say 20 years from now, and this  _ is _ based on statistics, 30-40% of these grafts are still functional. The durability of mechanical prostheses have a higher chance when it comes to durability, and  _ that’s _ what we’re looking at.”

Natasha furrows her eyebrows as she looks at Steve. “Didn’t Thor open up the idea of the Ross procedure?” she asks, and Steve frowns slightly.

“Well...that  _ was _ kind of what we’d been arguing about,” he says, and Natasha groans and rolls her eyes and Steve knits his eyebrows together. “Look, I suggested a mechanical valve instead—”

“Mechanical valves require blood thinner medications for the  _ rest _ of her life, Steve!” Natasha exclaims. “Sarah’s only  _ three _ years old, and if you’re  _ really _ thinking of the  _ best _ option for her—”

“This  _ is _ the best option for her—”

“Putting her on warfarin therapy for the  _ rest _ of her life is absolutely  _ not _ the best option for her, Steve!” Natasha exclaims, taking a step back and shrugging his hands off her shoulders. “Not when there are other  _ better _ ways of treating her that would help her live her life as a normal kid again!”

“And what do  _ you _ suggest, huh?” Steve asks, trying not to raise his voice at Natasha as he watches her close her eyes and sigh in exasperation. “What do you suggest, what are the  _ better _ options here, because I don’t see  _ any _ other better options here—”

“That’s why we’re in a goddamn hospital, Steve!” Natasha shouts in exasperation. “That’s why we got  _ other _ doctors to check on her,  _ other  _ cardiac surgeons— _ two _ of them,  _ even, _ and one of them is a pediatric cardiothoracic surgeon who so happens to know  _ these _ things better than we do as she  _ should, _ and the other one is a world-renowned cardiac surgeon who had  _ published _ medical journals on various techniques who,  _ by the way, _ knows what he’s talking about!  _ They’re _ the ones in charge of deciding which procedure to do, or which strategy to take, what steps should we take from here because apart from the fact that we freaking  _ hired _ them to do their jobs to our daughter,  _ they, _ unlike  _ us, _ have the proper medical judgments when it comes to Sarah’s case because they know that  _ ethically _ speaking, you don’t get to treat or make judgments for family!”

Steve blinks in surprise, realization dawning on him as he takes in Natasha’s words slowly. He sighs and closes his eyes, hanging his head low as he shakes his head slowly, resting his hands on his hips. Natasha mirrors his same movements, running her fingers through her hair in an attempt to calm herself down, because now is  _ definitely _ a bad time to argue and get deeper in a fight, and with everything that’s happening, she absolutely  _ cannot _ lose her sole support system right now. She understands Steve’s reaction, of course, and she’d be lying if she would say he’d never gotten a point right; he  _ did. _ He was right about the homografts, but only because she thought it was going to be a direct transplant and not in accordance with the Ross procedure, which is the top recommended approach for surgeries for children who need valve replacements.

No wonder they’d been arguing for a while in this very hall—Natasha would have argued the same way if this were any other case.

But that’s the thing, this  _ isn’t _ just any other case, and right now, they are  _ not _ doctors. And as much as they are both itching to take over Sarah’s case themselves (Steve more than  _ anybody, _ if she was being honest), they can’t. Legally speaking, they can’t, and should they be free from medical ethics, the chances of Sarah getting well is  _ very _ low, because admittedly neither of them are in their proper mindsets to make sound medical judgments whenever it concerns Sarah. It’s happened with her once before, and though Steve hadn’t been there, she’s sure as hell not going to allow it to happen again.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says softly, taking a step closer to Natasha who looks up at him and sighs. “I’m sorry, I...you’re right. I’m...I’m really sorry.” he says, his eyes focused on Natasha who gives him a small smile and a nod, before he can wrap his arms around her, pulling her for a tight embrace as he buries his nose in her hair and closes her eyes.

“I know.” Natasha murmurs, burying her face against his chest as she sighs, bringing him closer to her. Steve presses his lips on her hair as he pulls away slightly to look at her, giving her a small smile before he presses a kiss on her forehead, his hands resting on her hips.

“Still tryna get the balance of being a Dad and being a doctor, I guess,” he says lightly and quietly, and Natasha smiles up at him, lifting a hand to brush his hair gently with her fingers. “It’s quite difficult...having to just stand here, you know, when every inch of you is just aching to move and take over, when your head’s telling you that you have the skills, the knowledge, the  _ power _ to take over and just...save her.” Natasha hums.

“We have the skills and the knowledge, but the power? Over these emotions allowing us to overthink we  _ have _ to do absolutely  _ everything _ to save her? I don’t think we do,” she tells him gently, her smile fading slightly. “I, for one, didn’t, and there I was, thinking I did, anyway. It was quite a cost I wished I paid instead.”

Steve lifts his hand and cups one of her cheeks, his thumb brushing on the apple of her cheek. “She became okay, didn’t she?” he asks softly, and Natasha hums, giving him a sad smile.

“The point is, Steve, right now we have a different job. And sure, to some extent, we still have a say on the doctors’ medical procedures, insert some of our opinions they may consider, but we’re not Doctors Rogers and Romanoff right now, we’re Sarah’s Mommy and Daddy,” she tells him softly, and Steve gives her a small smile. “And it’s a bigger job, and honestly? Definitely a  _ better _ job.” Steve chuckles.

“You’re right. I guess so,” Steve says softly, and Natasha smiles widely as Steve laughs softly and nods. “I know, I  _ know, _ you’re always right.”

“Damn right I am.”

The morning passes, and after Sarah wakes up for breakfast with her parents, Steve proceeds to the surgical floor to retrieve records for his and Natasha’s patients. Steve then starts completing the records inside Sarah’s room as Natasha hands over whatever crayon color Sarah asks her for. Natasha looks over at Steve, hunched over a patient record beside Sarah’s bed, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he reads over a surgery report. “You okay, sweetheart?” she asks, and Steve looks up at Natasha and sighs, giving her a small smile.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “But remember the case about the thoracic esophageal cancer with a right aortic arch I operated on last week?” Natasha nods. “I think I might request a follow-up checkup, though I have to coordinate with the patient’s oncologist for it.”

“Found something fishy?” she asks, handing Sarah a yellow crayon.

“I think so, though I’d need a second opinion from the oncologist—Emma Frost, if you know her?” Natasha nods. “Last week, we’ve already completed her thoracoscopic esophagectomy, and her intraoperative recurrent laryngeal nerve monitoring is ongoing. Though I realized there might be some anatomic abnormalities with the recurrent laryngeal nerve.”

Natasha hums and tilts her head to the side. “Well, if you should have to be there for her checkup, then you could go,” she tells him with a gentle smile. “I’m gonna be here with Sarah, anyway.”

Steve smiles and nods. “I’ll go page Doctor Frost later, discuss this case and whatever strategy we need to take.” he says, and Natasha nods.

Sarah tugs on Natasha’s sleeve, catching her attention. “Mommy, can we go out walk?” she asks softly, and Natasha chuckles softly, her eyes flickering over at Steve who looks at her confusedly, though he has a small smile on his face as well.

“There isn’t a rule or anything not allowing us to just wheel Sarah in the hallways, is there?” she asks softly, her smile wide in amusement as Steve chuckles softly. “Maybe we can bring her to daycare, just so she can see her friends too?” she asks, and Steve hums.

“D’you want that, baby? Wanna drop by daycare so we can see your friends?” Steve asks softly and gently, leaning forward to look at Sarah in the eyes and the toddler grins widely and nods excitedly. “But we can’t stay for long, okay? We have to go back to the room quick ‘cause Uncle Thor and Auntie Sharon might look for us.” Steve tells her, reaching out to brush Sarah’s hair off her face, his thumb brushing on her rosy cheek as she hums and nods.

“D’you know...Dani there?” she asks, her eyes flickering as she looks up at Natasha.

“I think Dani is in daycare, baby,” she responds gently. “Jones and Cage came in this morning?” She looks over at Steve who grimaces and shrugs.

“Though I’m sure they’re here, so I think Dani’s up in daycare.” Steve says, and Sarah starts squealing excitedly as both parents chuckle. Steve goes to request for a wheelchair, while Natasha puts away Sarah’s coloring book and crayons, putting it beside her stack of patient records as she prepares Sarah when Steve comes in with the wheelchair.

It’s a typically and oddly ordinary walk. When they come in to daycare, they both smile when the kids start cheering and flocking around Sarah, giving her hugs and just chattering about, asking why she’s in a hospital gown, what her sickness is, how cool it is that she’s riding on a wheelchair (kids find it cool, apparently, and it’s one of the many things both Steve and Natasha muse about) and when she would be able to come back to daycare to play with them. Steve and Natasha simply stood outside the daycare room, allowing their daughter and the other kids to have their fun—have a bit of adult-free chatter and play with whatever games Sarah can play with her just sitting on the chair.

Natasha’s phone starts buzzing in her cardigan pocket, and she pulls it out, reading a page from Wanda. She furrows her eyebrows, and Steve looks over at her phone. “She’s looking for me. She knows I’m on leave, it’s why Banner’s in charge of my patients.” she says, looking up at Steve who furrows his eyebrows slightly as he tilts his head to the side.

“Maybe it’s an urgent patient? Didn’t you mention the patient you operated on yesterday?” he asks.

“But Banner told me last night she was stable post-op,” she responds, shaking her head as she tucks her phone in her pocket, taking a deep breath as she crosses her arms over her chest and looks back at Sarah laughing with the other kids in daycare. She stares at the way her little girl’s pale face is somehow still glowing with happiness as she laughs and chatters with the other kids surrounding her. She stares at her bright green eyes sparkling, her smile wide, showing off her perfectly white teeth. She lets out a small chuckle herself. “I don’t wanna miss this. She looks so happy.” she says softly.

Steve looks from Natasha to Sarah, and he smiles and hums, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks at their daughter intently. “You know, it’s what she normally looks like whenever she plays with you, so I don’t think you’re missing much,” he tells her, and Natasha laughs softly as he looks over at her. “And you won’t have anything to lose if you answer the page either.”

Natasha sighs. “I promised Sarah I won’t go to work, and that I won’t leave her side,” she tells him softly. “And I can’t...I can’t miss moments like  _ these, _ Steve, they’re too precious to be missed. I know she’ll have a lot more, but missing one makes me feel like I’m a bad Mom or something.” Steve opens his mouth to say something, but Natasha chuckles and shakes her head. “Which I know I’m  _ not, _ but you get what I’m saying.”

Steve chuckles softly, and Natasha hums. “And besides, if anyone finds out I’m working on my leave it  _ will _ get me in serious trouble, not unless it’s an emergency, but it doesn’t seem like an emergency.” she says with a shrug.

“She wouldn’t hold it against you if you leave. I don’t think she ever will,” Steve tells her softly. “She looks up to you for saving lives—”

“She looks up to you, too.”

Steve laughs softly and nods. “She looks up to the  _ both _ of us,” he corrects gently, and Natasha hums and smiles widely up at him. “And I think if you would explain to her the urgency of you having to leave for just a bit just so you can go and save someone else’s life, I don’t think she will hold it against you. I mean, come on, sweetheart, she’s  _ three _ years old, and she looks up to her Mommy more than anyone else.”

Natasha sighs and looks down, and Steve wraps an arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss on the side of her head. “If it’s an emergency only, of course,” he adds, and Natasha hums, leaning towards Steve’s body, as he rests his head over hers. “But if not, you can always just stay with us.”

“I think I’ll just rather stay with you.” she says, looking up at Steve who leans down to press a chaste kiss on her lips, pulling her close as Natasha pulls her phone out, telling Wanda she would meet her for a moment by the nurse’s station in a while.

And it had been a fairly boring eventless time afterwards as well , or so not entirely . They wheel Sarah around a little more, and Natasha has used this walk as an excuse so they could go down to the surgical floor and talk to Wanda, check-in with her page while Steve and Sarah go to the attendings’ lounge, where the toddler’s aunties and uncles are. Wanda had apparently just wanted to update Natasha on the monitoring updates on Mara Buckwheat, and while her results don’t look  _ too _ good nor too promising for it to be called in as an improvement, it’s also not enough to be considered as urgent. She would last until Natasha’s leave is over perhaps — in two days, she said — and Wanda had to agree because of how logical it really was based on the report and recent findings.

“But if anything happens within the day, or if you find anything suspicious, any bleeding which may deem critical, you call me right away,” Natasha tells the resident, who nods obediently and urgently. “Something tells me she wouldn’t wait for two more days, so we have to be ready, and make sure Banner is also ready and informed about it as well.”

Meanwhile in the attendings’ lounge, Bucky has Sarah carried to his hip, while Clint and Bobbi are having their coffee, both of them seated by table in the middle just watching contentedly as Sarah chatters away. The three attendings all entertain the toddler as she tells her stories, while Steve just sits back and watches everything unfold. When Natasha enters back in, she sits down beside Steve on the couch, inches herself closer to him as they both watch their daughter entertain her uncles and auntie with her stories —of her EP study conducted this morning and her brief morning with the kids from daycare.

They go back to their room before lunchtime, with Bucky, Clint and Bobbi promising the toddler and the two parents they’ll be dropping by to visit before the end of their shift. Sarah had already grown tired when they got back to the room, and after eating half of her lunch, she falls back into another nap, while Steve and Natasha eat theirs, talking quietly so as to not disturb their little girl’s sleep with their medical discussions, online apartment huntings and budgetings for the following month—all adult and domestic things, anything they can talk about apart from Sarah’s condition and her surgical procedure.

Which, at this point, is still unknown, because of how Steve...you know, turned down every of Thor and Sharon’s suggestions earlier this morning.

And speaking of Sarah’s two doctors, the door opens and they find Sharon and Thor stepping inside the room, their eyes flickering over to Sarah asleep on the bed, while Steve and Natasha are huddled in the couch, the two of them looking at Steve’s laptop. Sharon gives them a smirk. “I heard our little patient went on a hospital tour earlier this morning.” she says amusedly, and Natasha chuckles, straightening her body as she looks at Sarah.

“Yeah, she wanted to go see her friends at daycare, and I had to meet with Wanda on the surgical floor for an urgent concern on a patient,” she says, turning her head as she watches Thor close the door. “You here for the, uh...procedure?” she asks, ducking her head to look at Steve who sighs, looking back up at his colleagues.

“Well, apart from usual monitoring, which Doctor Odinson will be doing,” Sharon says, gesturing over as Thor starts to check on the heart monitor beside Sarah’s bed. “We’re also here to finally discuss what we’ll be doing.” She looks over at Steve and sighs. “And I’m sorry if  _ this _ one still wouldn’t work or be up to what you want, Steve, but—”

“No, it’s... _ I’m _ sorry,” Steve says quietly, shaking his head as he looks over at Natasha who gives him an encouraging nod and a small smile. “You’re right, I...I overstepped and I overreacted, and…” he trails off and sighs, looking up at both Sharon and Thor. “I just wanted what’s best, and...I think I might have been...you know,  _ out _ of it.” he attempts to explain, but Sharon nods understandingly, pursing her lips as she takes a seat on the chair across the couch.

“I know, Steve, but you have to understand that we’re also doing the same—looking for every possible option based on what we found from Sarah’s medical history and all the tests we’ve conducted so far,” Sharon tells both of them, and Steve sighs and nods, ducking his head as Natasha reaches to take his hand in hers. “You  _ have _ to understand and trust that we know what we’re doing, and we  _ promise _ that we’re really looking into all the best possible options.”

“I know, I know,” Steve says, giving Natasha’s hand a squeeze as she gives him a small smile. Steve looks back at Sharon, then at Thor who sits beside her. “I’m really sorry, I  _ am, _ I really am. And I promise, I’m ready to listen to the strategies...whatever your plan is, I’m all for it.”

“Well, we’ve already thought about what we plan to do,” Thor starts, looking over at Sharon as he opens his patient record for Sarah. “Although it was one of the things and plans you’ve initially turned down earlier today, we highly think it is still the most effective procedure of valve replacement yet.”

“It’s the Ross procedure. We insist on still doing the Ross procedure,” Sharon continues, looking intently at Steve and Natasha, the latter of which nods in agreement as Steve sighs and nods, albeit hesitant at first. “You’re familiar with it, I’m sure? Though for clarity, I think it’s still better we make a quick run-through of what exactly we’ll be doing.”

Steve nods, even though he is already familiar with the procedure itself, but it is something he hasn’t performed yet in the entirety of his career. He knows how it works theoretically, knows about the medicine and textbook procedure and definition but not the reality of it all, how it’s gonna be done in real life and how it’s going to be done to his daughter.

“The Ross procedure is a known procedure usually done to treat kids with leaky and diseased aortic valves,” Sharon starts. “Basically the concept of the procedure is that the diseased aortic valve will be replaced with her own pulmonary valve, followed by replacement of the pulmonary valve with a pulmonary homograft—thus the need to still wait for human donors in the transplant list.”

Steve nods, his eyes flickering over to Sharon then to Thor. He does his best to listen, to focus, to  _ trust _ these two doctors because it only makes sense that he would. “With regards to the use of a mechanical or a prosthetic valve, it’s not a good option, especially for someone as young as Sarah,” Thor continues, and Steve sighs, nodding as finally, it’s starting to fully make sense. “We’ve looked into every possible option, every possible way to accommodate your request, but theoretically, Doctor Rogers, there are no small-sized aortic valves available, and since Sarah is still a growing child, more surgeries might be needed as the prosthetic valve will remain its original size, and more complications might rise when she grows older. It may lead to symptoms of left ventricular outflow tract obstruction.” he explains.

“If we decide to proceed with the Ross procedure, rest assured that as Sarah grows, then so will the pulmonary valve, so there wouldn’t be complications, nor will there be any follow-up procedures in the very near future,” Sharon continues, and both Steve and Natasha nod. There are less complications, Steve thinks—excellent hemodynamics from the procedure itself, and the risk of embolic complications is almost zero. “Granted, the procedure has its own limitations. She would need another procedure in the next...fifteen to twenty years perhaps, because the homograft might undergo stenosis, but...even  _ that _ won’t be too fatal.”

“Every procedure has its cost,” Thor tells them, his eyes flickering between the two parents, his two colleagues. “All of us know that, speaking from one doctor to another, every procedure has its own pros and cons. But at this point, this is the best shot we’ve got.” He pauses, and looks at Steve straight in the eyes. “And you and I both know that, Doctor Rogers, it’s the best shot we’ve got yet.”

_ The best shot. _ He’s not entirely wrong, Steve supposes. This surgery is the best shot they’ve had for Sarah, and as he takes a moment to think and browse through any other procedures he can think of—mentally weighing all the pros and cons of these procedures (as much as he can, and at this point, he can only think and do  _ so _ much). He’s not performed the procedure yet, but he knows of these two doctors’ credentials and credibility, knows and believes in their words that they think this  _ is _ the best step for Sarah, and they will do their best to make this successful. His eyes flicker over to his sleeping daughter’s small form on the bed, her chest rising and falling quickly, and though he may be a little far away from her, he could still hear her small wheezes at every exhale; a sign of her short breaths and difficulty in breathing.

This is the  _ best _ shot they’ve got, and he remembers promising himself and Natasha that they’ll do this together, do everything they could to give what’s best for Sarah. This  _ is _ the best one yet, and all he has to do is trust these two doctors in front of him, his two colleagues, Sarah’s uncle and auntie, both of which only have the  _ right _ amount of attachment to the kid to be able to think straight and have their own proper, non-skewed medical judgments on whatever they’re about to do, yet still enough to persevere and be inspired to search for whatever is best for her.

Steve sighs, and looks back at both Thor and Sharon. “When will we know? If the procedure can be done, when could we know?” he asks quietly.

“We’ve put her on the transplant list as soon as we could, and luckily before we got here, a doctor from Reagan in UCLA got in contact with us,” Thor says. “Well...very long story short, we have a donor.”

Natasha blinks. “I...what happened to the kid?” she asks in a small voice, because though a huge part of her is happy that a donor would mean an immediate execution of the procedure, a part of her also sinks just thinking of whatever it is that might have happened to the child.

“Car accident,” Sharon mumbles, and Natasha frowns slightly. “Uh...head trauma mostly, and she didn’t make it, her father and brother didn’t, either. Her mother decided to make them organ donors.”

“And she’s a match for Sarah—the first one on the list, apparently, for pediatric cardiac procedures and we promise the list is not rigged,” Thor says, and Natasha chuckles quietly at that as she nods. “We might be able to retrieve the homograft by tomorrow evening. We’ll be leaving first thing in the morning, and after all the sterilization and preparation for the graft and on Sarah, the surgery may proceed two days after.”

“Three days from now?” Steve asks, and the two doctors nod. He looks over at Natasha, a smile forming on his mouth. “All will be well in three days.” he says softly, and Natasha smiles widely, nodding as she lets out a soft laugh.

“All will be well in three days,” Natasha repeats softly, looking back at the two doctors, and she watches both Thor and Sharon relax in their seats, looking at the two with small smiles on their faces. “You sure this will work, right? In three days, the surgery will happen, and...this is the best shot we have? I mean, I believe it is—”

“It’s the best shot,” Sharon tells her gently with a nod and a smile, and Natasha sighs as she nods, her smile widening. “And if it makes you feel better, I’ve assisted a surgery like this back in Seattle, and Doctor Odinson has done  _ multiple _ Ross procedures already. We’re both more than qualified for this one.”

Natasha looks at Steve and gives him a small smile, nudging him gently on the side. Steve gives her a small smile, then his eyes flicker over to Sarah—his sweet and beautiful little girl. All he’s ever wanted is to love her and take care of her, and if this is what’s best for her? Then he’ll agree with it, say yes wholeheartedly to it. He looks back at the two doctors, then back at Natasha as he nods. “Yeah, I think this will work,” he says softly, and he looks back at the two doctors. “This is gonna work.”

Thor nods. “It will.” he tells him, and Steve gives both of them a small smile as he nods.

Sarah wakes not long after Steve and Natasha’s conversation with Thor and Sharon, as the two doctors are just about to leave, but both stop when they hear the little girl’s whimpering for her Mommy. Natasha gets up from the couch to walk over to the bed, pressing a kiss on Sarah’s head as the girl wraps her arms around her neck, and Natasha chuckles, adjusting so she can sit on the edge of the bed while Sarah cuddles up close to her mother.

“Guess she woke up just in time,” she says, looking over at Thor and Sharon who chuckle and walk over beside the bed, as Steve takes a seat beside it, lifting a hand to brush Sarah’s hair away from her face, the toddler giving her father a small and sleepy smile. “Baby, Uncle Thor and Auntie Sharon are here. They’re your doctors, remember? They wanna say something to you.” Natasha says, smoothing her girl’s back as the toddler lifts her head, turning to look at the two doctors, and she smiles widely up at them.

Sharon smiles widely, tapping the girl’s nose as Sarah giggles softly. “You doing okay, Sarah?” she asks, and the toddler hums and nods. “Well, Uncle Thor and I have just talked to your Mommy and Daddy, and we’d like to talk to you about something too. It’s about how we would fix your heart.”

Sarah perks up slightly, her eyes widening as if in delight as she looks at Sharon and she smiles. “Fix heart?” she asks, her eyes flickering between Thor and Sharon. “Save...save life and heart?” she asks, and Sharon chuckles softly as she nods.

“Yes, we will save your life and fix your heart,” Sharon tells her softly, and Sarah grins widely up at her mother, then at her father, as both Steve and Natasha chuckle and press kisses on her head. “We’ll do it  _ three _ days from now.” Sharon holds up three fingers as she looks at Sarah. “Do you know what day that will be?”

Sarah furrows her eyebrows slightly, tilting her head to the side as she looks up at her mother. “Mommy, what day today?” she asks.

“It’s Wednesday, honey.” Natasha responds softly, and she watches fondly as Sarah starts murmuring to herself, holding out her hand and counting her fingers as she recites the days of the week.

“Saturday?” Sarah asks, looking up at Sharon as she holds up three fingers just like her and Sharon hums and nods.

“Very good, Sarah,” Sharon praises gently, and Sarah giggles softly. “We’ll be fixing your heart on Saturday, but before that, Uncle Thor and I will have to run a few tests, okay? Just so we can prepare you for the surgery. So you can expect the two of us to always be here, and I heard your other uncles and aunties will also be dropping by soon too.” she says, and Sarah nods excitedly.

Natasha looks up at Sharon, giving her friend a wide smile. “Thanks, Sharon,” she says softly, and Sharon gives her a gentle smile and a nod in return. “Say thank you to Auntie Sharon and Uncle Thor, baby.” Natasha says, nudging Sarah gently.

“Thank you, Auntie Sharon and Uncle Thor.” she says softly, and both Thor and Sharon say their goodbyes, as Steve gets up from his seat to shake both of their hands in gratitude before they leave.

Sarah then extends her arms over to Steve who then replaces Natasha in her spot on the bed as Natasha chuckles and presses a kiss on Sarah’s head. She figures it’s time for Sarah’s “Daddy phase”, where she just wants to be held close by her Dad, and maybe along the way fall back to a quick nap before she wakes up to start coloring and drawing. Hopefully she  _ doesn’t _ fall asleep, though, because even if her little girl is sick and has a tendency to sleep longer than the usual, she still gets her bouts of energy up whenever she takes too many afternoon naps. But then again, her uncles and aunties visiting her might keep her up, with their visits  _ hopefully _ enough to wear her out for the evening so she could sleep better.

Her phone rings, and when she looks at the screen, she sees Wanda’s name. She looks back at Steve who gives her a nod and a smile, one she returns as she steps out of the room, closing the door behind her shut before she answers the call. “Wanda?”

“I  _ know _ you said I can only call you if it’s urgent and if it’s an emergency, like a life-or-death sort of situation,” Wanda says, and Natasha hears the urgency in her voice. “But we ran another CT for Mara Buckwheat just today, and I think you should see this.”

Natasha’s eyes widen slightly, but before she can even think or do anything, she starts walking quickly towards the elevator. “Can you describe to me what the results are? Is there bleeding?” she asks.

“There is. There’s blood collection in the surgical cavity, enlarged ventricular system and edema of the pons and medium cerebellar peduncle—”

“So there’s a blood clot?” she asks, pressing the button down to the surgical floor.

“Yes, and apart from that, her GCS score is down from 5 to 3—which means fixed mydriasis and no motor response anymore,” Wanda says, and Natasha sighs, closing her eyes and shaking her head as she starts muttering Russian swears. “Nat, I don’t think she’s gonna make it if we wait.”

_ “Okay, _ okay, I’m getting there,” Natasha says, and the door opens to the surgical floor as she quickly steps out, ending the call as soon as she reaches Wanda by the nurses’ station. The resident’s eyes widen as she puts her phone down. “So in short, it’s  _ really _ bad?”

“Very bad, and I’ve been trying to reach Doctor Banner, but I couldn’t, and I might have gone overboard and left him seventeen voicemails before finally calling you,” Wanda says, holding her phone up to show her call log, and Natasha sees that there  _ are, _ indeed, seventeen missed calls to Doctor Banner. “I think we need to get her to surgery, at least to remove the blood clot since I think that’s a huge bulk of the reason why her GCS score is going down.”

Natasha sighs, running her fingers through her hair as she shakes her head. “Wanda, I...I don’t know if I can make that call right now—” she tries to say.

“I can show you the scans,” Wanda tells her, pulling the scans out of the envelope and handing it over to Natasha who sighs and takes it, clenching her jaw as she raises it against the light to look over at it thoroughly. It shows the exact same things Wanda had told her are present in the CT. “Would you know any other neuro attendings present? Doctor Pryde, Doctor Prime, anybody?”

Wanda shakes her head. “Doctor Pryde is currently still on maternity leave, and Doctor Prime is in a surgery with Kamala—Doctor Khan,” she explains, and the resident sighs and purses her lips. “The next best option we have is the chief, but his name is on the board, and he won’t be out in three hours from a surgery.”

How is it that during the time  _ she’s _ the one on leave, she’s also the only neurosurgeon available in the entire neurosurgery department? “What surgery?” Natasha asks.

“Pharyngeal perforation.” Wanda responds with a shrug.

“Then we can wait for his surgery to be over so we can give this one to him,” Natasha says in finality, and though Wanda clenches her jaw, she nods stiffly. “It’s supposed to be easy for him, just give him a brief background and I suppose it wouldn’t be too late by then—”

“Doctor Romanoff?” Natasha turns at the voice, and she comes face-to-face with a familiar young lady, and it takes her a few more moments before she realizes that it’s Ava Buckwheat, Mara’s eldest daughter—the beautiful young woman who reminds Natasha of her younger sister. The girl’s blonde hair is tied to a messy bun, her eyes are wide and glassy, and her eyes flicker from Wanda to Natasha. “I-Is my Mom gonna be okay?” she asks.

Natasha blinks, looking down at her feet as she attempts to formulate her words. She sighs, runs her hands through her hair, but Ava continues to speak. “I’m sorry, I...I couldn’t help but overhear, there’s...there’s something wrong...with my Mom? Like...bleeding or something, I heard it from Doctor Maximoff’s call, and I...I know that sounds  _ really _ creepy and really weird, and I came off as very nosy but I just happened to pass by...and I just wanna know, Doctor, I…” she trails off, and Natasha looks up at Ava as she wraps her arms around herself and looks away slightly, shaking her head as if gathering enough courage before she can look back at the doctor. “Is my Mom going to be okay?”

Natasha swallows down her throat and takes a moment as she takes a deep breath. Wanda looks at Natasha intently, ready to step in and explain for Ava, but the attending gives the younger woman a small nod. “Doctor Maximoff had run some tests earlier, and we have found some bleeding in your mother’s brain, as we have predicted from the start it will happen,” she says quietly, and Ava frowns slightly, her jaw clenching as her eyes turn glassy. “We may need to operate on her as soon as we can, and as soon as another neurosurgeon comes in—”

“But you’re a neurosurgeon,” Ava points out softly, her eyes wide and pleading as she looks at Natasha. “You’re a neurosurgeon, you operated on my Mom, and you said she was gonna be okay yesterday—”

“Ava, I’m sorry, but I’m on leave and if I go in, I...I might risk losing my job—”

_ Dumb argument, but sure, Nat, _ she thinks sarcastically to herself.

“But if you don’t, then  _ I _ might risk losing my Mom.” Ava says. “You saved her the first time, Doctor,  _ please _ save her again this time,” she pleads, clasping her hands together in front of her chest as Natasha sighs and raises her hands to say something in an attempt to calm the younger woman. “I know we don’t have much, but if it’s...if it’s money you need, any extra pay for an overtime since you’re on leave—”

“No, Ava, it’s not that, it’s…” she trails off as she sighs, closing her eyes as she licks her bottom lip.  _ It’s what, Nat?  _ Honestly, it’s already a losing fight for her the second Ava pulled out the fact that  _ her _ losing her mother definitely weighs  _ heavier _ than Natasha possibly getting in trouble for pulling a stint that could only merit a warning from the chief.

Besides, Ava reminding her of the stakes also reminded her  _ why _ she’s a doctor in the first place. Sure, she plays with the rules of the hospital, follows them to be a professional co-worker but if it’s the rules versus the life of a person? She isn’t a doctor if she wouldn’t choose the person’s life.

“Ava, I can’t guarantee  _ again _ that this surgery will wake your mother up,” Natasha tells the young woman quietly. “And at this point, I don’t know if it will make her condition any better. I’m sure you’ve also heard of how your mother is slowly losing her responses now.” She sighs. “If we do this, the risks become higher.”

“I know,” Ava responds quietly with a small nod. “I...I know that. But...if there’s any chance that this could somehow make her better, that this could make her feel less sick...then I’d take it.  _ We’d _ take the chance, my siblings and I would take the chance, just... _ anything _ that could bring my Mom back, please.” Her voice cracks in the end as Ava pauses to recompose herself, swallowing the lump in her throat as she looks up at Natasha. “I don’t care if the chances are low. A chance is still a chance to bring Mom back. Please, Doctor.” she whispers.

Natasha sighs, mentally reassessing all the results from Mara’s tests, and  _ absolutely _ making sure that this is the right call, and this surgery will be their best shot in upping the chances of Mara’s recovery. So far, it is, and still...the outcome doesn’t look too good for her liking.

But then again, a small chance is better than having none at all.

She purses her lips and turns to look at Wanda. “Page an available intern, ask them to book an O.R. so you can go up and prep Mara for surgery. Text me the room and I’ll meet you there,” she tells the resident who nods, giving the attending a small smile as she dashes to the elevators, pulling her phone out on the way. “We’ll be having the surgery as soon as we get an available operating room, but for the meantime, stick with Doctor Maximoff, follow whatever instructions she and another doctor will tell you, okay?”

Ava nods, quickly following Wanda to the elevators as Natasha takes a moment, resting her hands on her hips as she sighs, running her fingers through her hair. She bites her bottom lip in contemplation, before she takes her phone out and dials Steve’s number as she starts to walk over to the attendings’ lounge.

“Nat?”

“I’m going into surgery,” Natasha says, opening the door to an empty lounge and walking over to her locker to retrieve her scrubs and change her shoes. “The patient I operated on yesterday started hemorrhaging again, and her GCS score decreased—”

“Wait, Nat—” Steve attempts to say.

“I know this isn’t an urgent emergency like we talked about, Steve, but there aren’t any neurosurgeons left and Banner isn’t picking up his phone,” she starts explaining as she begins to change her shoes as she tucks her phone between her ear and shoulder. “And before you say anything, I know the consequences, and I’m ready to—”

“Tasha—”

“—face them, and I  _ promise _ I will be back and explain everything as soon as the surgery ends, and that goes with the fact that I’ll make it up to both you and Sarah, okay? Please be okay with this, Steve.” she says softly as she stands up, her scrubs in her hand as she is ready to change. She hears a soft chuckle at the end of the line.

“Sweetheart, I was just about to say good luck,” he tells her softly. “And don’t worry about me and Sarah, okay? We’re just here anyway, and we’ll be waiting for you.” Natasha sighs, feeling her heart somehow relax, the load in her chest lightening as she smiles.

“Okay.” she responds softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You do good, alright? I love you.” Steve says, and her smile widens.

“I love you too.” she responds softly, before she hangs up and changes into her scrubs.

Natasha passes by the Buckwheat siblings huddled together in the waiting room as she proceeds to the O.R. an intern has booked for them. She starts scrubbing, watching as Wanda and the intern—Wilson,  _ another _ Wilson that’s not Sarah’s Uncle Sam...she kinda forgot  _ this _ Wilson’s first name though—starts preparing Mara on the O.R. table. Natasha sighs, looking down at her hands as she starts running through the procedure in her head. It’s a seemingly simple procedure, and should there be no further complications that may  _ possibly _ come along with it, it would be a rather swift surgery. The swiftness doesn’t guarantee a sure path to recovery, and as the main doctor handling this case, even she has to admit that she isn’t confident enough to say that there wouldn’t be further post-op complications in the next few days. There  _ will _ be more, for sure, given the progressiveness of Mara Buckwheat’s disease from the beginning, her given medical history, and quite frankly, her  _ age. _

But she nonetheless chooses to force herself to look at the bright side of things for now. She wills herself to remember Ava’s face, along with her younger siblings, and her words earlier. At this point,  _ no, _ Natasha doesn’t care if she gets caught, Natasha doesn’t care if her working on a non-urgent case during her leave will merit a minor violation. All she ever cares about now at this point is Ava’s words, pleading her to operate on her Mom despite the risks:  _ I don’t care if the chances are low. A chance is still a chance to bring Mom back. _

A chance is still a chance, and this one is the best shot they have so far to fulfill that chance.

She turns the faucet off and takes a deep breath. She takes a few more moments, just letting her mind and heart ease, before she turns to enter the O.R., allowing the scrub nurses to put her operating gown, mask and gloves.

And it took her four hours. Four uninterrupted hours (not  _ quite _ fully uninterrupted, if you count Fury standing over them by the gallery to watch her and give her a slightly disapproving look before staying for a moment and walking off) of carefully evacuating the bleeding in the surgical cavity, and fixing what she can to avoid possible immediate post-op complications. In the end, Mara is stable, and though her GCS score has not improved, Natasha instructs Wanda to continue to monitor Mara closely, as she also requests her to close up Mara’s head as she deals with what could  _ possibly _ be a sermon from the chief of surgery.

And true enough, the man himself is indeed waiting for her in the waiting area, a few seats behind the Buckwheat kids. She takes a deep breath, her eyes meeting Nick Fury’s, first, before her eyes flicker over to Ava and her siblings, who stand as Natasha approaches them slowly. She tells them the good news, of course, and tells them of the monitoring plans. While she herself isn’t as optimistic post-surgery, she admires how the Buckwheat kids are still optimistic for Mara’s full recovery, shown most especially on Ava’s smile and eyes, her sincere gratitude shown in them, and how she had spontaneously embraced Natasha, her siblings following suit as Natasha chuckles softly and does her best to embrace them back.

She approaches Fury, right after the Buckwheat kids are approached by Wanda so she can lead them to the recovery room. She sits beside the man, who doesn’t even bat an eye as she approaches him, and continues to sit straight and look straight ahead. “You’re not gonna get me in trouble ‘cause of  _ one _ surgery, are you?” she asks, and Fury grunts beside her, letting out a low chuckle.

“Just a bit of a shock. Yesterday, I received a notice from you telling me you’ll be on leave to care for your kid who’s about to go into surgery, and now I see your name on the O.R. board and saw you in front of the O.R. table,” Fury says lightly, and Natasha chuckles softly. “It went well, I presume?”

Natasha shrugs, crossing her arms over her chest as she smirks. “You know me.” she says, and Fury laughs.

“Now, don’t get too cocky, Romanoff,” he says teasingly. “You might just be in trouble with what you did.”

“Oh come on,” Natasha says, turning her head to look at her boss, who turns his head to look at her with a raised knowing eyebrow. “The woman I operated on was a patient of mine yesterday—”

“I read the file.”

“So  _ you _ should know how progressive and complicated it was,” she says, and Fury hums in agreement. “I knew there were gonna be complications, knew the bleeding was bound to happen, but I turned  _ everything _ over to Banner. But then Banner wasn’t picking up—”

“He was called in to Harvard for a conference.” Fury supplies, and Natasha sighs in exasperation.

“See, why don’t people  _ tell _ me those kinds of things?” Fury shrugs, and nods at her to proceed. Natasha sighs and nods. “Anyway, Wanda paged me, and Steve is with Sarah and my daughter is having her Daddy phase so it’s fine—”

“Daddy phase?” Fury repeats, the corner of his mouth turning up into a small smirk. He and Natasha are close, the two of them having a special familial relationship outside of their working one, so Natasha supposes she can say  _ these _ kinds of things about her daughter, whom Fury almost considers as his granddaughter (though she won’t say it out loud, but the way Natasha perceives him when he interacts with Sarah is like a grandfather holding his little granddaughter. She’s also one hundred percent certain Fury wouldn’t be too opposed to that.).

“—and then the daughter, the  _ eldest _ daughter came in just when I told Wanda I was going to hand over the surgery to you,” she continues, and Fury’s expression softens as Natasha sighs and shakes her head. “And it came down with the choice of a minor violation against me or her Mom’s life, her Mom’s chance at recovery, and I couldn’t say no to that, Nick. Not when I can help it, and not when I’m already  _ there _ standing in front of her with nothing to do anyway.”

Fury regards Natasha for a moment, leaning back into his seat. “Are you sure you weren’t  _ swayed _ by the emotions?” he asks her gently and softly, a tone he  _ rarely _ uses, but a tone she is familiar with because he would only use it with her. “‘Cause it seemed to me what changed your mind was the choice verbally laid in front of you, Natasha. This surgery, the procedure you just did...was it urgent?”

“Her head is a ticking time bomb, Nick, and even as I finish the surgery now, I’m not even one hundred percent  _ sure _ there wouldn’t be any bleeding that will follow,” Natasha explains. “The patient is running against time here, and every minute she would spend waiting for a neuro attending to crack her head open and evacuate the bleeding is a  _ wasted _ minute, and you know it. You know it if you read the report, and if you’ve seen the procedure that I just did.” Fury nods and Natasha follows suit. “And sure, in some  _ way, _ I was swayed by the emotions, stirred by her small speech convincing me to operate, but a small part of me was already convincing me to do it anyway precisely because of  _ that. _ That there’s no more time to waste, and it  _ may _ not be the best and surest way to complete recovery but it’s still a  _ way _ and it’s still a  _ chance.” _

Fury just looks at her intently, and Natasha just sighs as she looks down at her hands on her lap. “Nick, I became a doctor so I could save lives, and that’s regardless of whatever circumstance I may be in,” she tells him softly. “And that also means saving people’s lives is my priority, and if I have to sacrifice other stuff so that I could do it, then so be it. I  _ know _ I made a minor mistake, and I really wouldn’t care at all, but I need to know that you understand me, Nick. You understand why I did it, why I did what I did.”

Fury lets out a slow breath. “I did. I  _ do _ now,” he responds gently, and Natasha exhales a breath and nods. “But you know, you wouldn’t really get into trouble with this one.” he says, and Natasha furrows her eyebrows in confusion over at the chief, as he begins to smirk. “I know there’s a general rule that doctors on leave shouldn’t do surgeries unless it’s grave and urgent, but that rule is more for the doctors’ benefit, for those who are on leave and are  _ not _ inside the hospital. You already said it yourself, you happened to be here, so you did it yourself. That isn’t any on any grounds for a violation—minor or not.”

Natasha scoffs and shakes her head unbelievingly. “Well, you couldn’t just start with  _ that?” _ she exclaims, and Fury laughs.

“Well, I figured you have your own speech ready, so might as well hear it out first,” Fury says with a smirk and Natasha scoffs and chuckles, shaking her head fondly as she smiles and Fury chuckles. “It’s the right thing to do, Natasha. And you did good, suppose the surgery you performed really  _ did _ save her life, increasing her chance of recovery and survival.”

Natasha sighs and shakes her head slightly as she leans back in her seat. “It was the best shot,” she says softly. “But it isn’t a surefire way for her to wake up.”

“No surgery is ever a surefire way for a patient to get better or recover,” Fury tells her gently. “Even the simplest of procedures—an appendectomy, or in our case as neurosurgeons, an aneurysm clipping—can still go wrong, and it could still cost the life of the patient on a table. But it’s the best shot we can give them without giving up.”

Natasha purses her lips and nods, looking away from her boss as Fury sighs. “When’s the little girl’s surgery?” he asks softly, and Natasha swallows the lump in her throat as she looks back up at the older man, giving him a small and sad smile.

“Saturday,” she responds quietly, and she clears her throat. “You should come visit her in her room, you know. She’s still a little sore you weren’t at her birthday party three months ago.” Fury laughs softly.

“I’ll make sure to drop by before her surgery,” he says softly, and Natasha hums and nods. “It’s the second time she’ll be having a chest surgery. What is it this time?”

“Aortic leaky valve,” she answers with a small nod. “Thor and Sharon are her main doctors.”

“Two of the best we have,” Fury agrees with a nod. “I mean, apart from Rogers, but we can’t have him operate on her, can we?” Natasha chuckles softly and shakes her head.

“He’s out of it, honestly. He tried arguing with Thor and Sharon about the procedure to be done, even though of course  _ theirs _ is better than what he wanted to do,” Natasha says softly, and she shakes her head slightly. “Guess he must’ve never thought that the day will come when  _ his _ medical judgment will become skewed and obscured by emotions.”

“It’s  _ his _ first time to be a parent to a sick child,” Fury points out. “And besides, it’s supposed to be something he is good at, something within his expertise. And I think it’s a common thinking for doctors who have sick kids, that they  _ have _ to save their kid because apart from them being in a profession that saves people’s lives, they’re  _ parents, _ and they’re supposed to know how to save their kids regardless if they’re doctors or not.”

Natasha tilts her head to the side. “It’s not only parents,” she tells him quietly. “It’s just how families are.”

“Like the kid of your patient, the one who swayed you to operate,” Fury says, and Natasha chuckles softly as he nods. Fury rests a hand on Natasha’s shoulder, and she looks up at him and smiles. “You gonna be okay?” he asks.

Natasha sighs, a million thoughts and emotions running through her head and her heart, but nonetheless she nods. “We’ll be okay,” she tells him softly. “We’re gonna be okay.”

Both doctors stay in the waiting area for a while, before Natasha stands up so she could go back to Sarah’s room, and Fury had promised her he’ll drop by before the little girl’s surgery. The room is filled with their friends once she gets there—Bucky, Tony, Pepper, Clint, Bobbi, and even Thor and Sharon are there, all of them just lounging around, out of their scrubs and coats and into their casual clothing, as if back to their usual personas of Sarah’s aunties and uncles instead of doctors in the hospital. Sarah squeals for her mother’s return, and though she catches Steve’s eye, looking at her as if he’s asking how the surgery goes, she just gives him a small smile before walking towards their daughter’s bed, wrapping the girl in an embrace.

And it’s not long before their visitors have gone to turn in for the night, not long before Sarah eventually passes out for the night to sleep. After tucking her into bed, Natasha flops down on the couch, still in her scrubs, as Steve approaches her, sitting on the seat across the couch. He leans forward, clasping his hands together and resting his elbows on her knees.

“The surgery went well?” he asks, and Natasha hums and nods.

“It did. I’m not too confident about it, but it went well, and she’s stable for now, and I think that’s all that matters,” she responds softly, and Steve smiles. “At this point, when it’s a surgery that races against time, that will be  _ all _ that matters.” she says, and Steve hums and nods, lowering his head as Natasha sighs.

A silence falls between them, and though it’s not all uncomfortable, it’s quite unsettling, still. “When you were in surgery, and before the others came in, I got to sneak in an ECG,” he says quietly, and Natasha tilts her head slightly to the side. “Her arrhythmia’s getting worse. And I think that with her  _ this _ time, it’s a race against time too.”

Natasha’s chin quivers slightly as she looks down at her lap, and Steve sighs, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “I don’t think three days from now is too late, but...I also don’t know if by that time it would still be as easy as they made it seem,” he continues quietly. “It might get more complicated over the next few days, but I hope this is just me overthinking things but...I’m talking numbers and science here, Nat.” Natasha nods slowly.

She then takes a deep breath and leans forward, mirroring Steve’s movements as she clasps her hands together, resting her elbows on her knees as she looks at Steve intently. “Tell me this, between two doctors speaking to each other,” she says quietly, and Steve looks up to meet her in the eyes. “What are the chances that in this surgery, she’ll recover fully and be well? No complications, flawless and quick? That after all of this, she will be completely healthy and fine?”

Steve sighs, lowering his head for a moment in contemplation. He knows the answer, of course, and whether his answer is skewed by his disposition or not, he takes a moment nonetheless to pause and contemplate on telling her the answer he has in mind. He takes a deep breath and looks back up to meet her wide and glassy eyes. “In all surgeries, there’s always a fifty-fifty chance of success or not, no matter how good the surgeon is. That’s why even the greatest surgeons still have mortality rates on their resumes,” Steve tells her, and Natasha looks away from him and nods. “But a chance is still a chance, and as surgeons, our job is to deliver the most accurate and best shot we can offer to them.” he says.

Her mind goes back to Fury’s own words earlier, the one she couldn’t keep off of her mind no matter how hard she tries:  _ Even the simplest of procedures—an appendectomy, or in our case as neurosurgeons, an aneurysm clipping—can still go wrong, and it could still cost the life of the patient on a table. But it’s the best shot we can give them without giving up. _

She knows this, of course, knows what Steve is saying and knows the reality of what Fury had told her. But it hits differently, she supposes, now that she finds herself in the disposition of the patient’s family who speaks on behalf of the patient. She would think that with this being the second time it happened to Sarah, she would get used to it, that she would go immediately past the stage of denial and go right straight to hope, and the certainty that she  _ will _ be okay because of how she had been okay before.

But that’s the thing, wasn’t it? There is  _ no _ certainty in these cases, just like  _ any _ other surgery that could go wrong, just as there was no certainty that Mara Buckwheat’s surgery will automatically lead to her recovery. But like what she had said, what Fury had told her, and what Steve had also kept on saying,  _ this _ is the best shot they have, and no matter how seemingly vague it is, they still have to hold on to it.

Natasha shakes her head slightly, swallowing down the lump formed in her throat. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do if the other fifty percent happens, Steve,” she admits quietly as she shakes her head. “I don’t want it to happen.” Because who knows what she’s gonna do? Who knows what it’s gonna do to her, and what it might do to  _ them? _ And she doesn’t want to lose any of that.

Steve gives her a small nod of understanding. “I don’t want it to happen too.” he repeats quietly, and they allow themselves to be enveloped in the silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave comments and kudos! :) stay safe all the time, everyone!


	20. Fix You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late update, you guys! but i hope you enjoy this one!! :)

She couldn’t sleep.

Not even as she buries herself further in Steve’s chest and not even as she tightens her hold on him, careful enough not to stir him awake, yet tight enough for her to anchor herself onto him. The bed they stay on is small, that of which is extended towards the couch, but since they had started staying here since the previous night when Sarah had been admitted to the hospital, neither of them had wanted to be apart from the other for too long, and so even if there is a bit of an extra space on the couch, Natasha had refused to let Steve away from her, and Steve had refused to even move an inch away from her.

Still, no matter how many times she would inch herself closer to him, in an attempt to close any sort of existing distance still between them, she couldn’t sleep. No matter how long she would rest her head on his chest to listen to his steady heartbeat, she could still not find it in herself to find solace in the sound of her lover alive.

It’s not comforting enough, perhaps, to quiet down the thoughts running inside her head, and she has plenty of those right now.

“Can’t sleep?”

Natasha lifts her head slowly, her eyes adjusting to the darkness to meet Steve’s bright and sleepy eyes looking down at her, his arm around her waist tightening securely as she shakes her head, resting it over his heart. She feels one of his hands running through her hair, his fingers slowly massaging her scalp as she lets out a soft sigh. But even _that_ comforting gesture cannot make her fall asleep.

“You couldn’t, either?” she asks, though she knows he had been asleep before this, if not for his sleepy mumbled question, lazy movements of his fingers on her scalp and his soft snores.

He hums quietly. “I was asleep,” he mumbles softly. “But I felt you awake.”

Natasha smirks, even though he couldn’t see it as he closes his eyes, his cheek resting on her head. “How’d you feel me awake?” she asks quietly, and almost teasingly. He chuckles softly.

“I just know,” he tells her. “Don’t need for me to open my eyes to know you’re awake.”

She knows he’s being smart and cheeky, all teasing using whatever is left of his energy after his few hours of interrupted sleep. “What’s running through your mind?” he asks, and he tries a different idle pattern massaging through her scalp this time, but it’s still enough to keep her relaxed and calm.

_What’s running through her mind?_

“Lots of things,” she answers quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, and it’s enough for Steve to hear her clearly. “Ever thought about how parallel universes exist?” Steve hums.

“Hawking,” he responds, and Natasha nods. “You’re unable to sleep because of that?”

“Indulge me for a bit, sweetheart?” she asks, and Steve chuckles softly as he nods, pulling her closer to him as she tightens her hold around him.

“You’re asking me if I believe in them?” Natasha nods again, and he looks down to give her a small smile, one she can see even through the darkness in the room. “You already know that I do. Somewhere out there, there’s a multiverse with plenty of other versions of us. There are good ones, and there are bad ones, with different histories and alternate outcomes than our own here. It’s incredible to think about, though, that there’s a universe for each possible alternate outcome conceivable to us, as many as the what-ifs we have everyday, though I think with the number of what-ifs we have, it’s significantly more compared to the number of universes, so I don’t really think that part is plausible enough.”

Natasha nods, looking at his eyes intently, allowing herself to be mesmerized by his eyes and by his words, digesting every word he says that would feed her own thoughts as well. “I could be wrong, though I think Tony has a lot more input in this since I think he’d done more research on this in his spare time. I’d simply been there to listen, and some of what he said stuck with me,” Steve says, and Natasha smiles up at him. “But I guess the whole thing kind of helps you persevere. Even if it’s true or not, scientifically plausible or not, one thing kind of still holds true—we make this universe we’re living in count. We make the choices that we wouldn’t regret, good enough for us to stop wondering what our alternate selves had chosen and how different it would be. So we have to make the best one out of this universe yet.”

Steve shrugs. “But I do understand the desire for it. Sometimes we won’t feel fine in this universe and just wish that in some way, a version of ourselves is doing fine out there,” he continues quietly. “But then there could’ve been other universes where we would’ve been doing worse, so...there’s also that.”

Natasha blinks for a moment. “What do you like to think about more? The ones where we would’ve been doing good, better in other universes, or those where we would’ve been doing bad—the one that’ll make you feel good about where we are?” she asks quietly, and Steve takes a pause for a moment to think.

It’s too much to think of in the wee hours of the morning, probably, but he’d be lying if he'd say that he hasn’t thought about these kinds of things once or twice in this _exact_ hour in chosen days.

“The ones where we’re doing good, or at least where _I_ was doing good,” he answers quietly. “When I would’ve made better choices that could’ve led to better outcomes.” Natasha hums. “What about you?”

“The one where we’d be doing bad, so I can make myself feel good about where we are,” she responds softly, and Steve places his hand on the side of her head, his thumb brushing her cheek gently. “If things go to shit, it’ll be easy to think, ‘well, there are worse outcomes than this one’. And there _are_ worse things that could come out of this one. I don’t wanna think about them, but somehow they always do come in my head uninvited, and the idea of worse universes would just end up overwhelming me.”

Steve eyes her intently, patiently waiting for her to proceed as she sighs. “Steve, I have a feeling.” she admits quietly.

“What feeling?” he asks.

“You know, the _feeling,”_ she responds. “The feeling that one of those _worse_ universes is actually my reality, and any second any time now, my world is gonna start to fall apart.” Natasha buries her face further in Steve’s chest, crumpling his shirt in her hand as if anchoring herself, and she releases a shaky breath. “Is it so wrong to feel like this mere days before something important will happen?” she asks.

“I think it’s natural,” Steve tells her, pressing his lips on her head as she sighs. “The feeling could be fear, and there’s nothing wrong with being a little scared.”

“It’s not just a little.” Natasha tells him, and he hums and nods.

“There’s nothing wrong with being scared,” Steve corrects himself. “Sometimes it’s the one thing that keeps us going, that forces us to become hopeful even when we’re not.”

Natasha lifts her head from Steve’s chest, one hand resting on his chest as she looks at him straight in the eyes. “Can you do something for me?” she asks quietly, and Steve nods. “Will you tell me, just for tonight, that she’s gonna be fine? That nothing’s gonna go wrong, and medically speaking, after her surgery, I would get my baby back?”

_Even the simplest of procedures—an appendectomy, or in our case as neurosurgeons, an aneurysm clipping—can still go wrong, and it could still cost the life of the patient on a table._

Steve furrows his eyebrows slightly, his eyes wide as if imploring Natasha to not let him do this, to _not_ let him lie and promise her something he cannot deliver at all. “Nat, you know I…” he trails off, because he _wants_ to promise her all of those things, really wants too _so_ badly if it would only ease her mind, if it would only give her peace, give _him_ peace as well. But he can’t lie. If there is _one_ thing he doesn’t want to do, doesn’t ever _want_ to do to her is to lie, make a promise that might end up empty. “I can’t do that.” he tells her quietly.

Natasha’s face scrunches up, her eyes filling with tears as she swallows the lump in her throat. Steve releases a breath, lifting a hand to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing on her wet cheek. “Please, Steve,” she whispers. She clears her throat and takes a shaky breath. “I don’t care if you have to lie—”

“I _don’t_ want to lie—”

“I _want_ you to lie to me just once, Steve,” Natasha says almost pleadingly, her voice hushed yet urgent, her eyes glassy and moist and imploring. “Lie to me tonight, that everything will go perfectly well...and should it _not,_ that…” she trails off and pauses, her bottom lip quivering as she looks down to regain her composure. She takes a shaky breath once again and releases it. “That you and I will be fine, and that you and I won’t fall apart.” she tells him. “That we’ll still stay together even after it.”

Steve is not gonna lie when he says it’s a heavy request. Both requests are equally heavy, yet he knows that only one of them is the _one_ promise he is certain he can keep, certain he could devote his energy and time so he could make sure it happens. He can only ever keep one of them, and as much as he wants to keep the other one as well _so_ badly, he knows that he can’t. By all means and ethical codes, he _can’t_ make that promise for her.

But he looks into her glassy, tired, and pleading eyes, and he knows that she _knows_ he cannot make one of those promises come true. In hindsight, perhaps she thinks that he _cannot_ fulfill both promises at all. It breaks his heart to see her like this, to believe in the doubt she currently has about their current situation, and the fact that he can’t do anything _much_ about it.

Except do this _one_ thing for her. In this way, at least, it could help her sleep better at least for tonight.

“I promise she’ll be fine,” Steve starts quietly, and Natasha releases a breath upon hearing Steve say it. “And I promise that you and I will not fall apart.” He lifts both hands to cup her face, his thumbs brushing her cheeks softly and soothingly. “And the last one is not a lie, _never_ will be a lie.” he adds.

Natasha sniffles, her one hand resting on top of his on her face as she closes her eyes and leans towards his touch. She lowers her head to press a soft kiss on his lips, whispering a small ‘thank you’ against his mouth, while he responds with a small ‘I love you’ against hers.

He waits until she is settled back down beside him. He waits until she buries herself further in his chest, allowing herself to be lulled by his heartbeat. He waits until her breathing evens out, until the wrinkle between her brows fade, her expression relaxes before he could press another kiss on her hair, murmuring how much he loves her plenty of times. He allows these words to lull _him_ to sleep too, and it’s not long until both of them eventually do, just before the crack of dawn.

And meanwhile in the same hospital, during that _same_ exact time, Sharon begins to pack her things in preparation for her travels to UCLA to retrieve the organ for Sarah. Thor is supposed to come, but he had contacted her a few hours back and told her he cannot go, as he had to fill up Steve’s shift since he is on leave, and he was stuck on an emergency patient that came in just before he was about to leave his shift last night. Another transplant surgeon from SHIELD is coming with her, and while she has the perfect capability to transport and work on the allograft herself, she figures some company would not be too bad, even if said doctor won’t exactly be working on the case with her.

“Doctor Carter?” Sharon turns and finds said transplant surgeon, Doctor Cruz, who will be accompanying her, peeking into the attendings’ lounge. The younger surgeon gives her a small smile. “Just wanna ask if you’re ready to go. The jet’s waiting for us on the helipad.”

Sharon nods and zips up her jacket, the same one Doctor Cruz is wearing. “You got the container?” she asks, and the transplant surgeon lifts up what looks like a lunchbox, but is really the sterilized container for the allograft they’ll be transporting back here. “Let’s go.”

Overall, Sharon thinks the entire ride and visit to UCLA is uneventful. It’s still a five-hour ride from Manhattan to L.A., just like any other normal plane ride, and it’s not like they can travel any better with a medical jet. Upon their arrival in the hospital, they are immediately met by a team on the helipad, one of them being Thor’s contact person for the allograft. Said doctor immediately brings them inside, telling them that the operation on the donor has just started, and they would be able to retrieve the homograft after sterilizing it.

See, even the entire thing in itself isn’t at all eventful.

She is led to a hall where she assumes the operating rooms are, and is told that they are now harvesting the organs, to be distributed to the various hospitals. The doctor asks for Doctor Cruz, the transplant surgeon, and guides Sharon to one of the rooms where she knows the sterilization will take place. She will not be participating in the process, yet she will oversee it, and will perform some tissue testing to ensure that the organ will indeed be a match with Sarah before any kind of surgery will occur. She puts her bag down beside Doctor Cruz’s bag, where the container for the organ and a sample of Sarah’s lymph node tissues are and she sighs.

“Excuse me?” Sharon turns and finds a nurse, a young blonde woman in light blue scrubs—the uniform for their nurses in this hospital, as she has learned. The young woman looks at her with wide hazel-green eyes, and Sharon raises her eyebrows in response. “You’re the one from SHIELD?” she asks.

“Yes,” Sharon responds with a nod, but she pauses, her eyes squinting slightly as she takes in the face—the _familiar_ face of this nurse, and she does her best to recall where she had seen her, she _does,_ but she can’t. “Sorry, is the valve already here?” she asks.

“The valve is for Sarah?” she asks, and Sharon’s eyebrows furrow slightly. She talks like she _knows_ the kid, and Sharon doesn’t even _know_ who she is. “What happened to her?”

Sharon shakes her head. “I’m sorry, who are you?” she asks, and the nurse frowns slightly.

“Yelena Belova,” she responds, and Sharon’s eyes widen in both recognition and realization—she’s Natasha’s younger sister. “You’re Sharon Carter from SHIELD. My sister’s also told a lot about you too, back when she was in med school.”

“Right, _yeah,_ I’m sorry,” Sharon says, shaking her head apologetically as Yelena blinks several times at the woman. It’s pathetic for her to not recognize her as Natasha’s sister right away, but it’s been _years,_ and this is _literally_ the last place she would expect to see her too. “I-I didn’t know you were a nurse here, Nat’s never told me.” she tells the younger woman, who starts to shift her weight, as if uncomfortably, between her legs.

“Yeah, she doesn’t know,” Yelena murmurs almost quietly, but it’s enough for Sharon to hear as she raises an eyebrow in both inquiry and surprise and Yelena huffs out a breath. “It’s not like _she_ doesn’t tell me things either. I didn’t know that _one_ of the organs we’re donating is for my _niece._ I didn’t even know that she’s sick!”

“Guess that makes you even,” Sharon says with a shrug, and Yelena shoots her a glare as Sharon sighs and raises her hands in surrender. “Fine, _sorry._ But...yeah. And to answer your question on what happened to her, she has a leaky valve, a normal complication from her TOF.” she says, and Yelena frowns slightly at that.

“Will she be okay?” she asks quietly, and Sharon sighs.

“She will, so as long as we get the valve right away,” she explains, but it does nothing to ease off the worried expression on the nurse’s face. “Will you be working with us? On the sterilization process?” she asks.

“Y-yeah, I’ll be an assist,” she responds, and then she shrugs. “I just got surprised that’s all. I was just called in, and I rushed as soon as I could when I received the details, especially the recipient.” Sharon nods, and Yelena sighs. “How long has...how long has she been in the hospital?”

“Two days ago,” Sharon answers. “Steve brought her in. I think they were playing in the park when the kid started complaining about chest pains, short breaths and difficulty breathing, and started asking for Natasha, who was on duty at that time.” She shakes her head and looks at Yelena. “Forgive her for not telling you, but it _has_ been a crazy few days for her. She’s got patients on the line too, I think.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Yelena sighs and waves her hand almost dismissively. “It’s not like it’s the first time she did something like this too—keep a _big_ secret like that without telling me. She always does that for more than half of our lives.”

“I’m sure she didn’t mean it,” Sharon offers softly, and Yelena just shrugs and takes a seat near the laboratory table. “Does _she_ know you work here, though?”

Yelena is silent for a while and Sharon starts becoming unsure whether or not she’s going to respond to her or not, but then she releases a heavy sigh and shakes her head. “She knew I dropped out of nursing school, which I did, but I eventually came back and finished right before I visited her in New York,” she says quietly and then she shrugs. “And the main reason I visited was because I wanted to tell her _exactly_ that, but...a lot of _crazier_ things happened with her so I put her first.” She hesitates before proceeding. “And it was also ‘round the time Steve came back and, well... _you_ know what happened. Had to put her first.”

Oh, yes, she knows _very_ well. And she understands the need for her to put Natasha first.

“And I never got to tell her ‘cause my departure had been abrupt too, and it was perfect timing, I think, ‘cause that’s when she and Steve became together again. She called me for that,” Yelena says, giving a small smile as she nods. “But I never got to tell her about my job, then. Didn’t even get to show up for Sarah’s birthday ‘cause of duty, and it felt _wrong_ for me to tell her during that time.”

Sharon frowns slightly. “When do you think is the perfect time for _you_ to tell her about what’s been happening to your life?” she asks gently, and also curiously, though she begins to rethink if she’s even in the right place to ask her all of these—given that Sharon is still probably known to Yelena as “the girl her sister’s ex brought back”.

But Yelena just shrugs. “When things become steady, I guess.” she responds, and Sharon huffs out a small chuckle as she shakes her head.

“I don’t remember Nat having _one_ steady day since I’ve met her,” Sharon says gently, and Yelena looks up at her, her mouth quirking upwards in a small smile, as if a sign that she, too, agrees with that statement. “She’s always had a knack of attracting crazy things to happen to her.”

 _Not a day,_ Sharon thinks, as she begins to briefly recall their days in medical school. Natasha may have been at the top of their class during those days, but it didn’t come with a drama-free life. Sure, she’s had a _few_ steady days, and she usually takes those days to her advantage because of the amount of things she has to deal with _every single day_ of medical school. If it’s not a whirlwind of schoolwork or transes wiping her away and driving her insane, it’s other things—drama with men, drama with jealous classmates (Sharon can never get over this fact—how you’d think some people will grow up and mature and be professional enough in medical school, but apparently, she had been wrong), or even just _drama_ that would _somehow_ involve her, and something that would surprise Natasha how _she_ got involved (again, also another point of surprise).

And now that they’re back as colleagues, she isn’t gonna deny how the same trend apparently still happens to Natasha, only this time, instead of typical boy and clique drama, it involved babies, and long-lost exes, and best-friend-turned-ex’s-partner. She shudders. It’s all in the past now, right?

“Yeah,” Yelena agrees quietly with a small chuckle and a shake of a head. “She’s always had the most exciting life between the two of us.”

Sharon tilts her head and regards the younger woman. “But I don’t think that’s enough of an excuse to _not_ tell her about yours,” she tells her softly, and Yelena sighs and shakes her head. “I’m sure she’d be thrilled once she knows.”

“Yeah, well, what if she isn’t?” she asks, and the younger woman looks up at Sharon, her eyes wide and her eyebrows furrowed slightly. “I might just end up being one of the baggages she carries around everyday when she already has a _lot_ to deal with. And I don’t exactly _want_ her to lecture me about things anymore. What if she does _that?”_ she asks.

“Well, what if she doesn’t?” Sharon asks, and Yelena huffs out a breath and looks down at her lap, and Sharon lets out a small smile. “Look, I...I don’t know if you’ll take a piece of advice from someone like _me,_ but...there’s a _whole_ lot of other what-ifs out there, enough to make you stop telling her where you are or what you’re doing. _First_ of all, she’s gonna find out one way or another, even if neither of us will tell her, she will _always_ know, and I’m sure as hell she would like it better to hear this news from you.” She raises an eyebrow at Yelena as the younger woman looks up and sighs as she nods.

“And _second,_ if you allow yourself to be held back, and be overwhelmed with the what-ifs, I promise you, Yelena, you’ll miss out on the best parts: Nat’s shriek of congratulations, her huge wave of compliments, her wide smile, her _all-out_ support, _her_ telling _you_ how proud she is of you,” Sharon tells her with a small smile, and the corner of Yelena’s mouth quirk upwards slightly in a small smile as she ducks her head again. “Maybe those things can happen, maybe they don’t, but you won’t know unless you _actually_ do it. Tell Nat. You and I both know she’ll be proud of you more than ever. _One,_ for just hearing from you after probably months of not talking, and _two,_ for this achievement in your life. I know you think her life is crazy, but _these_ things are exactly what she needs right now—wins. If it’s a win for you, I’m sure it’s a win for her too.”

Yelena looks up and gives her a wide smile as she lets out a soft chuckle. She shakes her head slightly. “You know, Nat never told me you were such a great pep-talker,” she says, and Sharon laughs at that and shrugs, making Yelena laugh too as she nods gratefully at her. “Thanks, Sharon.” she says softly, and Sharon hums and smiles.

Yelena tilts her head to the side, her eyes narrowing at her slightly. “When you said I might not take advice from ‘someone like _you’,_ ” Yelena begins as she regards Sharon. “What do you mean by that?” she asks.

And Sharon shrugs. There’s a whole array of reasons, she thinks. “Well, for one, we _barely_ know each other,” she says, and Yelena hums, as if in approval as she continues to look at Sharon with curious and questioning eyes. “And, well...you said Nat told you the story of what’s been happening in her life when you came to New York.” She shrugs. “Don’t _I_ have a bad name in that story?” she asks.

Yelena contorts her face, giving her a funny look as if she couldn’t believe what Sharon had just said, and she shakes her head and chuckles. “You know, she said a lot of crap about Steve but you? Your name came up once, and it was only to explain how Steve had practically dragged you into this mess,” she explains and shrugs. “I never thought much about it, and I’m sure neither did Nat, so it’s not like...I see you as a bad person whom to _not_ take little life advice from. I’m trying to work on my listening and people skills, you see? Essential for patient care and everyday life.” she says with a soft chuckle, making Sharon smile. “Unless _you_ did something more that she hasn’t told me?”

_Like hating Nat for a moment because Steve chose her?_

“No, not really.” Sharon responds.

But before they could say anything more, the team comes inside, and they start getting to work. Yelena aids her with the tissue test, while Doctor Cruz and the doctor who had greeted them earlier started with the sterilization. After the necessary procedures, they’re led to the cafeteria for some snacks and late lunch before proceeding back home, while Yelena goes back on patient duty, telling Sharon not to preempt her sister about the news, making her promise as if like those teenage girls who still believed in pinky promises. Nevertheless, she complies and upholds the promise.

It nears evening when they get back to Manhattan, and by then, Sharon is ready to go home once she stores the organ in a cryo, and Thor takes over in the sterilization process that will be ready for Sarah’s operation. Clint had also sent updates on their patients, while Thor sent her updates on Sarah, whom he found out has gotten a little worse than the last time Sharon checked up on her.

She doesn’t want to think that the odds of her surgery being an easy one could lessen, but...it’s exactly what she’s thinking.

She runs up to the pediatric floor quickly right before she ends her shift, reviewing patient records filled up by the residents in charge of her patients and making a final monitoring round in the NICU. She makes a few updates and adjustments on the records, makes notes on her residents for those in the evening shifts, and texts them of the instructions for noted patients. Now, she is ready to go home.

She passes by the nurses’ station to give the records back, and when she turns, she finds a familiar figure by the coffee machine, her eyebrows furrowing as she looks up at the clock and finds that it is already quite late in the evening.

“Steve?” she asks, and the man turns, holding a cup of coffee and giving her a tired smile. Sharon frowns slightly when he sees his tired expression, her eyes flickering back to the clock before tucking her pens in her coat as she approaches him. “What are you doing awake? Sarah’s surgery is tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve sighs, taking a sip from the coffee cup he is holding as he shakes his head slightly. “I couldn’t sleep.” he says.

“Is Nat asleep?” Sharon asks, and he nods.

“Out like a light. She’s been asleep for hours now, passed out when Sarah did,” he responds quietly and releases a breath. “She couldn’t sleep last night so she must’ve been tired, and she was also called in for an emergency surgery earlier today. Could just imagine how tired she was.”

Sharon hums, crossing her arms over her chest as she nods over at Steve. “And you? Not tired?” she asks, which is a dumb question considering how she regards him—with the large bags under his eyes and his slightly paler complexion. He looks weary, _worried,_ probably for the reasons she can point out, and probably more than so.

“I can’t sleep,” he responds, shaking his head as he leans back on the wall beside the coffee vending machine. He looks defeated, severely so, this time for reasons Sharon can’t quite tell nor point out. “I woke up when she couldn’t sleep last night, said some words to comfort her but did little to make _me_ fall asleep. And I couldn’t sleep either even during the day, even when Sarah had her nap.”

Sharon just looks at Steve, and looks down at her feet, not knowing what to say yet feeling as if she _should,_ because apart from him being her colleague, technically she is also a patient’s parent. And whether she admits it or not, they _do_ have some history, regardless if it’s a bad, cringey one (at least for her, and she _surely_ knows it’s the same for him), and leaving him just hanging and wallowing feels so...wrong.

She’s not obligated to say anything, of course, but she _should._ And in her wide array of jumbled, sleepy thoughts, she does her best to think of anything to say, anything that could somehow bring comfort to the man…

“Sorry, I know you’re tired. Thor told us you went alone to retrieve Sarah’s valve in UCLA,” Steve speaks quietly, waving a hand dismissively and offering her a small smile, one she returns with a nod. “And you need to rest for the surgery tomorrow.”

“Right. Right, yeah,” Sharon says as she nods, and she tilts her head to the side. “I ran into Natasha’s sister, by the way, in UCLA.” she says, and Steve frowns.

“Oh God, please don’t tell me she’s sick too.” Steve says, and Sharon shakes her head.

“No, no, I think it’s quite the opposite,” Sharon responds, giving Steve a wider smile. “Did you know she’s a nurse there?” she asks, and Steve furrows his eyebrows slightly.

“I thought she dropped out and has her own business in L.A.?” Steve asks. “It’s what Nat knows of too.”

“Yeah, but did she ever _tell_ her what that business was?” Sharon asks, raising an eyebrow, and Steve seems to have thought about it as he pauses and shakes his head. “Yeah, well, she told me she went back to nursing school and finished right before visiting Nat here. She’s an RN now, and she helped me out with the lab tests for the valve.”

“She didn’t tell Nat.” Steve says, and Sharon shakes her head.

“She didn’t tell her Sarah was sick,” she points out, and Steve frowns as he sighs. Sharon shrugs. “She got surprised when she saw the name of the recipient of the part she was about to assist in the sterilization and tests with. What are the odds of her finding out that way, huh?”

Steve huffs out a chuckle and falls silent once again, and Sharon looks back down at her feet. “From what I know, she’ll call Nat, so...it would be good if you don’t mention this to her for the meantime,” Sharon says, and she looks back up at Steve who gives a small nod. “I-I know you have a thing where you’re rebuilding trust, but it’s only for a few days of a secret, and it’s not like it will do anything to hurt her or anything.”

Steve huffs out another quiet chuckle as he nods again, finishing up the cup of coffee and throwing it in the trash can. “Okay.” he responds quietly, and he furrows his eyebrows slightly, as if contemplating whether or not to speak, to say whatever it is that is in his head. So Sharon stays silent, her eyes trained on Steve as she regards him carefully, gauging whether or not the man will speak or say something. It takes a few more moments, and while in all those moments, she is tempted to leave and go home, she fights against it.

 _Everybody always asks the mother how they are doing whenever their children are hospitalized, whenever they are sick and due for surgery, but nobody asks about the father._ It’s one of the main things Sharon has learned throughout her fellowship, and one of the things she always tells her residents whenever she talks of patient care for the pediatric unit. _Perhaps it’s the same thing for Steve,_ she thinks. And the least thing she can do, as of this moment, where she sees how much he is internally struggling to probably figure out the right words, let out what needs to be spoken in the recesses of his heart, is to be patient and hear him out, _listen_ to him. And if fate permits, she might be able to find the right words to deliver the proper care—both as a colleague and as a patient’s parent.

“When Nat couldn’t sleep last night, I asked her why,” Steve starts quietly, his eyes trained on the floor, wide, empty and tired. Sharon tips her chin upwards slightly, as if telling him to proceed. “She was worried about Sarah’s surgery, of course, and she...she told me she has a feeling that she won’t make it.” He pauses for a moment, and Sharon’s expression softens as she looks back down at her feet. “I didn’t...I didn’t know what to say to her. I didn’t know how to assure her without lying, without keeping her hopes up. She’s already asked me what the chances are that she _will_ completely recover, like she doesn’t know. Like she’s not a surgeon who knows of the impossibility of complete odds in surgeries.”

Steve shakes his head and sighs. “Then she asked me if I can just lie to her once,” he continues quietly, looking up to finally meet Sharon’s eyes as she looks up at him. “She asked me if I can lie, and assure her two things to happen—that Sarah’s gonna come out fine, and that if she doesn’t, that we’ll still be together, and I won’t leave.” Steve purses his lips, his voice cracking in the end as Sharon’s eyes soften, letting out a small nod for him to proceed as Steve takes a shaky breath and sniffles. “As if she assumes the second one is still a lie.”

Sharon bites her bottom lip and shakes her head. “It isn’t, right?” she asks quietly and Steve shakes his head and runs his fingers through his mussed hair.

“It’s not. Or at least the second one isn’t,” Steve answers, meeting her eyes once again. His eyes are glassy, filled with tears, red-rimmed, and the weariness she sees in his eyes intensify. “Because even if I want to assure her of the chances, it’s not true. Whether she will live or she won’t, that’s not up to me even if I _want_ it to be up to me. And it’s not up to you, even if _you_ want it to be, but for _once,_ I want it to be up to me. I want the chances and the odds to be up to _me.”_

“No one’s forcing you to bear the chances,” Sharon tells him gently with a shake of her head as Steve sighs and shakes his head in disagreement, but Sharon still proceeds. “Both Nat and Sarah _need_ you to be strong, but that doesn’t mean bearing the weight of the entire world on your shoulders, Steve—”

“It’s _exactly_ what she means—”

“How would _you_ know? She herself knows it’s a lie when you tell her of the complete chances, and only wants to hear that assurance from you for just _one_ night to keep her mind at ease,” Sharon continues, and she shakes her head again. “She’s not asking you to _fix_ things for her, Steve, she just _needs_ you—”

“I _want_ to fix things, Sharon, I want to but I _can’t,”_ Steve tells her, his voice frantic, desperate yet hushed, his eyes wide and pleading, tired and red-rimmed, and filled with tears. “I know she asked me to lie, and I know she knows it’s a lie but I’m _done_ with lying, Sharon. I _can’t_ lie even if she asks me to. I’m tired of empty promises and deliberate lies, and when I say that I want to fix it, then I _will,_ whatever it takes—”

“And how do you plan to do that?” Sharon asks, frowning slightly as she interrupts him and tilts her head slightly to the side. “You can’t operate on your kid, do _any_ sort of treatment on her for that matter. We’re already doing the _best_ we can, and we’re…” she trails off and sighs. She wants to say that she’s confident about it, wants the urge to tell of her confidence so badly but she knows that she shouldn’t. She shouldn’t, and if she should, it would only make things worse. “We’re already doing our best.” she relents on repeating, and Steve sighs.

“Can you at least tell me the chances?” he asks quietly and pleadingly, and Sharon sighs and looks back down at her feet. “Please? Because I’ve been studying her case, and I’ve been counterchecking it with other studies. I’ve been reading, and I’ve been analyzing, thinking, simulating with whatever I can—”

“Nobody can ever know of the chances, Steve—“

“No, _I_ should!” Steve practically explodes, and Sharon flinches slightly in surprise at the outburst. Steve isn’t angry per se, or at least not _at_ her, and Sharon can understand this from the surge of emotions practically exploding out of him, borne out of desperation and frustration. “Because I should, right? Because _I've_ been working in this field for so long, I’ve been…” He sighs and starts shaking his head, raking his fingers through his hair and grasping some of his hair desperately and frustratedly. “I’ve been working hard and studying in this field for so long that I _should_ know. It _should_ be enough for me to know because I’ve been _here_ before. I have _worked_ in this for so long, and I...I _should_ know, I should know and I should make it work, and I should fix—”

“Steve, _stop_ —” Sharon raises a hand in an attempt to calm and stop him, but he interrupts her.

“D’you know what happened today?” he asks, his eyes wide as he looks at Sharon, who sighs and shakes her head. His chin quivers, bottom lip shaking as a tear slips out of his eyes and he wipes it quickly and almost too harshly with the back of his hand. “When Nat got called into surgery, I was alone with Sarah and we were playing and coloring. And then all of a sudden, she asked me why I hadn't been there before when she was sick the first time.”

Sharon pauses, her eyes softening as she looks at Steve, and slowly, she starts making sense of the emotions of this man right in front of her. She starts piecing the things together, slowly but surely, piece by piece, and it’s starting to make sense—his impulse to “make things right”, his urge to fix things, to be sure of the odds of Sarah’s recovery and the betterment of his family. She sighs and looks right at him, and waits for him to continue.

“She asked me why I wasn’t there, why it was only her and her Mommy, why I wasn’t the one doing all the taking care of the both of them like what I do now,” he continues, and his voice breaks at the end as he clears his throat. “And the question was innocent and curious, like how all her other questions are. She asked it so casually, like...like she was asking why the sky was blue or something, or like why we can’t go to the park, or what’s wrong with her Mommy’s patient this time, i-it was innocent, and I knew she didn’t mean harm because how _could_ she? She doesn’t know of all the stories, all the things I’ve done, all the _shit_ Nat and I had been through, but it still _hit_ me.” He pauses and shakes his head. “So I just told her that I had been studying and working hard to know more things about the heart, because it’s what I do, and she knows that. Then she asked me what I knew about _her_ heart, and if...if I could fix it so she can go to the park again.”

 _I’m tired of empty promises and deliberate lies, and when I say that I want to fix it, then I will, whatever it takes._ His words echoing inside her head...everything is starting to make sense to her now.

“You can’t lecture a kid about chances and uncertainty, and telling her that I can’t, it’s...I can’t do it,” he continues quietly as he shakes his head and sniffles, the corners of his mouth quirking down as his bottom lip quivers. “It’s another lie I said, because I may know a lot of things about other people’s hearts, I may recite all the certainties in each patient that I have, and the ways I can possibly fix it, but...but I don’t even know _anything_ about hers—about my own daughter’s.” He pauses as more tears slip from his eyes. “I could be an amazing and outstanding doctor and save the lives of thousands of strangers, but I can’t even do the same to _my_ own daughter. How _fucking_ ironic is that?”

 _Very and painfully ironic,_ Sharon thinks. She nods in agreement at that.

This isn’t a whole new scenario for Sharon. In her years as a surgeon, from her year of internship ‘till now, she’s met and came across doctors who are parents too. She’s witnessed how said doctors react, feeling so helpless and desperate of never being able to save their kids because ethic codes (and frankly, emotions) inhibit them from doing so. She’s witnessed their pre-op distress every time the night before their kids’ operations would come, have been on the other end of medical “what-ifs” as these parents-slash-doctors suggest whatever technique they can, those that they think are the best but really aren’t, because their judgment is, of course, obscured by their emotions.

Sharon can see that in both Steve and Natasha, but most especially with Steve. Although, she thinks, she has always wondered how _something_ is quite different with Steve.

And it was at that moment, when things started to make sense, that Sharon knew. This is beyond the distress of Sarah’s condition, the preoperative stress the parents of kid patients usually feel, definitely different from the distress parent-doctors also feel. Steve’s distress is beyond that. _This_ is pent-up guilt and shame, one that he can never forgive himself for, no matter how many times he has been forgiven by others, especially by those that he loves. _This_ is guilt beyond repair, one where he thinks—as Sharon assumes—that the only way to his complete repentance is Sarah's complete recovery. It’s the one where he fixes her, the one where, when he says that she will get better, that she actually _will,_ without hesitation.

But Sharon supposes that he’s on a standstill with that against science, both his friend for years long as a professional doctor, and as an enemy because of his uncertainty with his daughter’s condition. It’s the _one_ thing about science—the beauty of it, if she is even allowed to say—and it’s the _uncertainty_ of chances, the roaming questions and the what-ifs.

So when he questions about the chances of his daughter’s recovery, he somehow masks the selfishness he most likely does not want to acknowledge: _What are the chances that the world will forgive me for not being there from the start, for being unable to fix the broken, for being unable to beat the impossible?_

And just like any other doctor, just like any other scientist, with complete objectivity and as much professionalism she can muster, Sharon is only able to tell him this, as much as she wants to say more, and as much as she wants to assure him more: “We’ll have to wait and see to find out.” she says, because it’s the only answer she can give to his question of chances.

Because, like him, she does not want to make a promise she’s not sure if she can keep.

Steve purses his lips and gives her a small and defeated nod, and Sharon exhales a breath as she shakes her head. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly, and Steve looks up at her questioningly. “About...about what Sarah asked.” she offers quietly.

She feels responsible for it, in a sense, even though she knows she shouldn’t, and she knows that it’s what Steve says. He shakes his head dismissively and gives her a small smile. “It wasn’t your fault,” he tells her quietly. “Everything is on me.” _Is,_ like in the present tense, like everything that has been happening is a karma for whatever he had done in the past.

 _Still,_ Sharon thinks. Once upon a time, she wished for herself to win over Natasha. But she supposes that none of those things should matter now.

Sharon looks at the clock hanging on the wall and she sighs, looking back at Steve, whose head is still hanging low, his whole body looking defeated and tired. “You should rest,” Sharon tells him quietly, and Steve looks up at her and meets her eyes. “And...maybe for tonight, _just_ for tonight until tomorrow, you can try to give the odds to Thor and me. Let _us_ fix it, let _us_ try to steer the odds into the right place.” she tells him, giving him a small smile. “In the meantime...just let yourself be. Be there for Nat, be there for Sarah, enjoy the peace of being with your family.”

 _Because you never think the last time is the last time,_ is the silent addendum. _You think there will be more, you think you’ll have forever, but in times like these, who’s to say?_

“And I...I’m sure it may seem as though everything is coming apart, that the world has somehow become upside down,” Sharon adds, her smile widening as she meets Steve’s eyes. “But you _can_ get through this, and I promise you the day will come when the world will right itself again, most probably on the day you least expect it.”

The corner of Steve’s mouth quirks upwards slightly in a small smile as he nods. “Thanks, Sharon.” he says quietly, and Sharon nods. She raises a hand at him.

“It’s gettin’ late, and surgery’s early tomorrow,” she says, and Steve nods and straightens himself. “Make sure Sarah gets some rest, okay? I think Thor will come in early tomorrow for pre-op preparations, so make sure you’ll be up by then.”

Steve nods again, tucking his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. “Got it,” he says, giving Sharon a small and tired smile. “Night.” he says.

Sharon gives him a wave as she nods, before turning and walking off. “Night.”

Steve sighs as he walks back in the hallway to Sarah’s room. His eyes adjust to the lack of light inside the room, but he easily spots both of his girls fast asleep—Sarah on her bed, her chest rising and falling in a consistent, albeit fast, pace, and Natasha on their usual spare bed. There’s an empty spot beside her, _his_ spot, and he lets out a small smile. He’s never lain down beside Natasha yet, spent the early hours of the evening working while he watched Natasha and Sarah fall asleep, but there’s always a clear and empty space beside her that she’s not taking up, even though he knows her to be the kind of woman who _does_ take up most of the bed space especially when she’s tired.

He gently lays on the spot she’d left for him, and as if on instinct, she turns to face him, her eyes still closed, and he drapes an arm around her waist, pulling her close and pressing his lips on her forehead. He closes his eyes and buries his nose in her hair, inhaling the scent of her vanilla shampoo, his fingers brushing through it soothingly.

“Nat?” Steve tries, just to see if she’s still awake. She isn’t, because she doesn’t respond, and her breathing is steady, even, and uninterrupted. Steve smiles and presses a soft kiss on her forehead. “I love you. I love you so much.” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper, enough for only her to hear it if she’s awake.

He wishes she could hear him tonight, hear his hushed confessions as if she doesn’t hear it everyday, multiple times coming from him. Still, he thinks that no matter how many times he’d say it, it will always feel like he should say it more. He wishes that she knows that too, that the number of times he would tell her he loves her can _never_ compare with the amount of love he has for her, but somehow, he knows deep down that she does, and that she feels the same for him.

“We’ll get through this,” he whispers, pressing another kiss on her hair as his arm around her tightens, pulling her even closer to him. “We _can_ get through this, you know? You, me and Sarah, we will.” he continues quietly. “I can’t imagine how we won’t, how we won’t get through this, how we won’t get out of this hospital safe, healthy and alive. And I know I don’t need to because we _will._ We _will_ get through this.”

His hand rests on the back of her head, and he closes his eyes, his lips pressed on her hair. “This morning, you asked me to promise you that if things go wrong, we won’t fall apart,” he says quietly. “During the time you asked me to lie to you, you asked me to promise you that, as if it’s a lie, as if it’s something that won’t happen—a light and momentary promise just to make you fall asleep.” His chest constricts, and he pauses to fight to keep his voice even, forces the tears to stay put, because this isn’t the time to cry. This is the time to be strong, to fight for the light at the end of the tunnel.

“Whether the rest of the world falls apart or not, Nat, _we_ won’t. And that’s a promise, not a lie,” he continues softly, pressing a kiss on her hair. “We still have a long way, you see? Breakfasts for an infinite amount of mornings, candle-lit dinners and tons of bouquets of roses. I’ve still yet to see you on a white dress, walking down the aisle, and Sarah with a small gown holding a basket of flowers, and I’ve still yet to see you with grey hair and wrinkles on your face, holding a cane and sitting on a rocking chair.” He smiles and lets out a soft huff of a chuckle. “I promise to love you even more when that day comes.”

“We’ll get there, you know? We will. Because you and I? We have a love that’s so big, and so strong, it never dies, never fades and...never loses electricity. It’s the kind of love we fight for, the kind of love _I_ will fight for for the rest of my life,” Steve lowers his head to press a soft kiss on her forehead. “So you and me, it’s a promise, Nat, a promise that’s gonna come true. A promise I’ll make sure _will_ come true.”

He’ll say it over and over again, say it when she’s awake and even she’s asleep once again. But for tonight, he holds her, because for tonight, she is all that matters—she and their little girl sleeping on the bed right beside theirs. _In the meantime, just let yourself be,_ Sharon had said, and so he does. For tonight, he allows himself to just _be,_ as he immerses himself in the presence of these two people he loves the most. Just for tonight, tomorrow does not exist, and tomorrow does not matter, because what only matters is him, Natasha and Sarah.

And for a while, he thinks, that would be enough.

* * *

“Mommy?” Sarah asks, and Natasha looks down and brushes the hair off of her little girl’s face. They had just finished their morning routine and debriefing, and both Thor and Sharon are simply preparing Sarah for the surgery. The girl looks up at her mother with wide saucer-like eyes as Sharon adjusts the IV on her arm. “Will you wait?” she asks. “Be with...me in surgery?”

Natasha smiles and brushes her fingers through her daughter’s hair. “We can’t go inside, sweetie,” she answers softly. “But Daddy and I will be waiting, okay? We’ll be waiting outside for your surgery to finish.” Sarah perks up, her eyes flickering over to her father standing beside Natasha.

“Daddy too?” she asks, almost excitedly, with whatever amount of excitement a sick three-year-old can muster. Steve chuckles and nods, leaning down to press a kiss on Sarah’s head as the girl smiles widely up at him. “Daddy, after...after surgery, we go park?” she asks, and Steve laughs softly, rubbing his nose against hers as the three-year-old giggles and Natasha smiles widely, her hand resting on Steve’s back.

“Of course we can,” Steve responds, and Sarah starts squealing and practically bouncing in her seat as both parents chuckle, and Sharon laughs softly, trying her best to make the little girl calm down so she can properly proceed with the pre-op preparations. “We’ll go anywhere you like after this one. So you gotta be strong, okay? So you can better _really_ fast.” he adds, and Sarah nods.

“Will get better really, really, really fast!” Sarah exclaims confidently, both filling Steve and Natasha’s hearts with so much love and pride, yet also pain. Oh, how they wish it were true. How they wish whatever their little girl will say will come true, most especially this one. “Then we go home, and then we play and eats lotsa nuggies!”

Natasha laughs softly and nods, cupping her daughter’s face and brushing her cheek with her thumb. In her peripherals, she can see Sharon looking at them, a small smile playing on her mouth as she sets Sarah’s IV properly. “That’s right, baby,” Natasha answers softly, smiling gently at her daughter as she presses another kiss on her forehead. “We can do whatever you want when you get better.”

Thor and Sharon both nod at each other before turning to look at Steve and Natasha. Natasha purses her lips and takes a deep breath before she nods, turning to look up at Steve. He finds her hand, intertwining their fingers together and giving her hand a gentle and reassuring squeeze. He leans to press a kiss on the side of her head as he sighs and nods, his eyes meeting Thor’s and Sharon’s, and Thor gives them a small smile as he turns to Sarah, and he begins to tell her how they’re about to wheel her in to surgery, to which the toddler agrees to. She lies back down on her bed, and Sharon puts on a haircap on the little girl, tapping her nose with her index finger and eliciting a soft laugh from the girl.

Both Steve and Natasha accompany their daughter as they wheel her through the hallway and to the operating room. They stop in front of a door, behind which is the O.R., a restricted area for doctors, nurses and patients only, and not for parents. Right now, both Steve and Natasha are parents, thus not allowed to go anywhere beyond where they are. Sharon nods at both of them, before turning to nod at the resident who proceeds inside to prepare the operating table and tools.

Both parents stand on either side of the gurney, both of them kissing their little girl and murmuring soft “I love you’s” and “see you later’s”. It’s really not a big deal for Sarah, they suppose, as the little girl returns these words in a heartbeat, almost as if it’s a routine, almost like it _isn’t_ at all a big deal for her. What she doesn’t know was how big of a deal it is to both of her parents, with wishes how _this_ wouldn’t be the last time to say it to her looming over their heads. Both parents’ chest and hearts constrict, and they take as much time as they can, given the little they are allowed with, to let their daughter know how much they love her.

Natasha takes a few more moments longer to herself, with Steve meeting Thor’s eyes and giving him a small smile, as if asking him if they could spare even just a _few_ more moments to allow Natasha the time she needs with Sarah. And so Steve watches as Natasha presses kisses on her daughter’s face, murmuring words he can’t understand, but obviously Sarah can, with the way the little girl nods, smiles and hums. She finally straightens herself, giving Thor a nod before she moves to stand beside Steve, the two of them watching as Sarah gets wheeled inside, their eyes never leaving the doors of the operating room, even as it is already closed and their daughter is out of sight.

They take their seats in the waiting area, along with a few others who are probably waiting for their loved ones inside one of the operating rooms. Their hands are intertwined, desperate enough to not let go, as Steve presses his lips on Natasha’s head resting on his shoulder.

“We should probably get something,” Steve tells her softly. “Some snacks while waiting? I could get you coffee.” he says, and Natasha hums. As much as she doesn’t want Steve to leave her side even for just a moment, she knows that he _has_ to move around, has to do something other than sit still and wait, if only to get rid of the nerves and not drive himself to complete insanity.

“Coffee would be good,” she murmurs, and Steve nods as he presses another kiss on her head. “Some Skittles, too?” she asks, lifting her head to look at him as Steve chuckles softly and nods.

“Going for that sugar-and-caffeine rush, hm?” Steve asks, and Natasha chuckles, smiling widely as Steve presses a chaste kiss on her lips, humming softly against his mouth. “I’ll be back, okay?”

“Okay.” She lets go of his hand, the absence of holding his hand sending chills down her spine. She watches as he gets up and walks. She sighs and leans back in her seat, running her fingers through her hair as she looks up to find a clock by the waiting room.

It’s only half-past eight in the morning. If all goes well and smoothly, it should end by noon, the latest of which until one in the afternoon. That’s four to five hours, and she exhales a long breath. She can’t wait that long, can she? But then again, what choice does she have?

Steve comes back quickly with two cups of coffee and a pack of Skittles, taking his seat back beside Natasha as he hands over one cup and her pack of Skittles, which she takes gratefully, giving him a peck on the cheek as she smiles gratefully at him. He starts talking, telling her all sorts of stories he can think of, and she listens to them, sharing her own fair share of stories to fill up the empty space and silence. And while between the two of them, there’s no ever such a thing as an uncomfortable silence hovering, especially nowadays when things have been amazing between them, Natasha still does her best to fill the silence, because she knows it’s what will work with Steve, and it’s what would help in easing his nerves.

He needs it. He’s been taking care of her for the past couple of days, and it’s time that _she_ would take care of him in the least thing she can do.

Around two hours in, after a couple of their colleagues and friends drop by to ask them how they are before going back to work, they’re out of stories and out of things to say, and so Natasha just leans her head on Steve’s shoulder, their hands intertwined as they sit in silence. They’re supposedly halfway through the surgery, and they suppose that if nobody inside the operating room is going out to inform them of _something,_ then they suppose everything is going smoothly, or everything is under control.

It might mean that, for this day, the odds are being steered carefully and smoothly by Thor and Sharon.

But Steve’s phone vibrating in his pocket has disrupted their comfortable peace, and Steve pulls out to check it. “Morse is calling me in on a case…” he says, and he frowns, his eyebrows furrowing as he reads over the text message again. “I’m on leave.” He looks over at Natasha. “I’m not supposed to be on duty.”

“Well...maybe it’s a mistake,” Natasha offers softly, her hand resting on his arm. “Maybe she doesn’t know about the leave, o-or just a misdial—”

“Rogers,” Both Steve and Natasha turn their heads to find the blonde trauma surgeon practically brisk-walking over to them. She rests her hands on her hips, as if catching her breath as she pauses right beside the two. “I’m sorry. I know you both are on leave, ‘specially _you,_ Steve, but we’re currently out of people in cardio, and I _swear_ I wouldn’t ask you of this if it wasn’t urgent, but—”

“What is it?” Natasha asks, and Steve finds her hand on her lap, squeezing her hand gently as she looks up at Bobbi.

Bobbi purses her lips. “I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t urgent,” she says again. “Motorcycle collision causing a pericardial rupture. We need someone _now.”_

Natasha looks at Steve who looks back at her with hesitating eyes. She knows how much he doesn’t wanna leave her, knows how much it would do to him if he chooses to leave her side and the possible scenarios that might reach his head should he leave her side and not come up just in time either of Sarah’s surgeons will come out to announce the news. And perhaps if she would allow herself to be selfish just for once, she would beg him to stay, ask Bobbi to look for a resident training under cardio just so Steve can stay with her…

But she can’t be selfish, not when another human’s life is at risk. Not when their job is saving lives, regardless if they’re on leave or not, if their loved ones are sick or not. As long as they aren’t, then there aren’t any excuses to do otherwise.

“It’s okay,” Natasha tells him softly, squeezing his hand gently and lifting a free hand to cup his face, brushing her thumb over the apple of his cheek as she gives him a gentle smile. “You go, they need you.”

Steve furrows his eyebrows slightly. “You’ll be okay?” he asks, and she nods, her smile widening assuredly.

“I’ll be okay,” she says softly, leaning to press a quick kiss on his lips. “I’ll be here, okay?”

Steve sighs, his eyes still hesitant yet somehow already determined to push through with the operation. Still, he nods, leaning to press another kiss on Natasha’s lips, murmuring a small “Love you” to her lips before getting up and following Bobbi. Natasha follows them with her eyes, eventually turning back, her eyes flickering back on the clock once they disappear from the hall. Time will stretch longer, she thinks, now that she’s alone. And the waiting will be longer and more excruciating now that she has nothing else to mind but herself.

But then again, it’s not like she can do anything about it anymore.

Once Steve follows Bobbi down the pit, and down to the emergency operating rooms, he gets debriefed on the patient’s case: a 36-year-old male was involved in a high-speed motorcycle accident in which he collided with another vehicle. He was stable when he was brought in and being treated for his external injuries, but a few hours had passed, said patient had become unresponsive and tachycardiac and had a dangerously low blood pressure. He was intubated, and underwent bilateral chest tube placement and aggressive fluid resuscitation.

They had ordered a FAST scan, a chest x-ray and CT scan, and while he’s cleared from any neuro injuries and abdominal injuries, there is evidence of possible left pleural effusion, thus the need for a thoracic surgeon like Steve.

“Again, I wouldn’t really pull you out if it wasn’t urgent, I swear,” Bobbi says, once they get down to the trauma O.R. and Steve sighs and nods understandingly. “If you want, we can send up an intern, someone to give you constant updates from the inside. I know this is gonna take a while—”

“You can do that?” Steve asks, almost unbelievingly and amazed as they both stop right in front of the doors of the operating room and Bobbi nods. “I...yes, please, if...if it’s possible.”

“I can ask one of the interns. ‘Sides, they won’t say no since it _is_ technically still a procedure they’ll sorta participate in.” Bobbi says, walking inside the washing area of the O.R.. Steve starts scrubbing as he watches Bobbi proceed straight inside. He watches from the small window as Bobbi practically barks at an intern standing beside the operating room table, the corner of his mouth quirking up when he sees the male intern stiffen and tense up, quickly nodding as Bobbi continues to talk, and practically scrambling out the operating room, Bobbi following after him. Steve watches the intern walk briskly out of the O.R. and he looks at Bobbi as he lets out a soft chuckle.

“Sounds like you scared him.” Steve teases, and Bobbi laughs and shakes her head, taking her place beside Steve.

“He’ll be calling one of the interns inside the O.R., so you’ll be getting a real-time update,” Bobbi says. “Told him to stay by the gallery so as to not disturb Odinson and Carter’s O.R. while the surgery is ongoing. I don’t mind the extra noise inside the O.R., so it’s fine.” Steve sighs and nods gratefully.

“Thanks for this.” he says, and Bobbi hums, giving him a small smile as they continue to scrub silently, with Steve silently hoping that he would hear nothing but good news and good words coming from that intern’s phone calls.

And, well...Sharon hopes for the same thing when she looks up to find a familiar intern practically scrambling to sit on one of the seats in the O.R. gallery.

“We have an audience?” Thor asks, his eyes flickering up momentarily before continuing his work on Sarah’s open chest. Sharon looks at him before looking back down.

“Morse’s intern,” she responds, and she looks around the O.R., her eyes landing on one of the interns. “You, can you check if Doctor Rogers or Doctor Romanoff is missing in the waiting area? Then come back immediately.” The intern nods obediently, walking towards the door of the O.R. as Sharon looks back up at Thor. “If one of them is missing, then they’re called in for trauma, and the intern up there is a livestream update of what’s happening.” Thor hums.

“She could have just asked to let the intern inside here,” Thor says. “That way, it would be less difficult for the intern giving the updates, though there _might_ be some extra noise.” Sharon hums, looking back down as they continue to work on the little girl on the table.

“I’d honestly prefer _lesser_ extra noise,” Sharon says, and Thor huffs out a chuckle and a nod. She looks up at the clock and stretches her neck for a moment, careful not to move too much with her hands. “Almost four hours in, and I think we’re gonna make it on time.”

“Perhaps this _is_ going to work,” Thor says, and he smiles underneath his mask. “Steve and Natasha shouldn’t have been too worried about it in the first place.” Sharon hums, and smiles.

“Eh. They’re parents, so they have _some_ of the rights to be worried.” she responds, and silence envelops them once again as they continue to work. Sharon aids Thor as the cardiac surgeon prepares for the implantation of the new valve—the final step in the procedure. She almost holds her breath, praying that it _will_ indeed work, and that no complications will take place, and that the last stretch of the surgery will be smooth-sailing and alright.

And so the two surgeons continue to work diligently and carefully, the two of them murmuring the procedures as one does, and the two of them working in-sync with each other and according to their plan. “Hemostasis secured.” Sharon announces, and Thor lets out a sigh of relief as he nods. 

“Think we need to make a few adjustments, still.” Thor says, and Sharon hums in agreement, and they proceed to work again on a few trimmings so it could be a better fit into the pulmonary root.

And so they do the necessary adjustments and have implanted the valve into the pulmonary root. They’re ready to wean the bypass away from Sarah, expecting her heart to restart once again, since the blood flow should be normal by now. Her heart should be normal and working by now. It takes a few more moments, a few more seconds, and both cardiac surgeons look up at each other, their eyebrows furrowed and confused, because in procedures like these, after restoring normal blood flow, the heart should start beating once again on its own.

But why isn’t Sarah’s heart beating on its own?

“It should...be beating now,” Thor says slowly, frowning as he furrowed his eyebrows even more, and Sharon begins to feel her own heart thumping loudly against her own chest. It should be beating. It _should_ be working. She watches as Thor massages the heart manually, watches as he murmurs under his own breath, counting the beats and seconds with the massage, and when the time is up, still, the heart doesn’t beat. “Check metabolic stats?”

“Potassium level is normal by far,” their resident says. “No signs for metabolic acidosis either.”

“Can we shock it?” Sharon asks, looking over at one of the nurses as she brings over a defibrillator machine to the operating table, and Thor raises his hands as Sharon gives a mild electric shock to the heart. _It usually works,_ she thinks. While this is rare, it usually works. This is textbook medicine, and this isn’t the first time she’s encountered this too.

Only, _this_ case isn’t just textbook medicine after all. And this is _definitely_ the first time she’s encountering it.

“Fuck.” Sharon mutters, and she shakes her head when she sees the heart still not beating. She massages the little girl’s heart once again, and Thor begins to bark orders at the interns, residents and nurses present. He let the medicines stand by, let the defibrillator machine charge once again, and as Sharon let go of the heart, Thor charges it once again, yet _still,_ to no avail.

This little girl’s heart isn’t restarting.

“The valve should work,” Sharon says frantically, doing her best to drown out the loud thumping of her own heart inside her ears, her eyes wide as she looks at Thor who is looking at Sarah’s open chest in sheer disbelief, his expression calculating and as frantic as hers. “We’ve run the tests, the blood flow is working, the _heart_ should be _beating.”_ Sharon says, her voice getting louder as Thor exhales a breath. 

“Check for any injuries,” Thor says, and he starts picking up his tools once again the same time Sharon does, and he shakes his head in disbelief. The residents present put Sarah on bypass once again. “But we’ve been careful, and we’ve inspected _everything_ before putting the valve—”

“We must’ve missed something,” Sharon interrupts, her voice weak and shaking, and she immediately does her best to calm her nerves, focused on inspecting every millimeter of the heart, any sign of injuries in the tissues, _anything_ at all that can help them tell what’s wrong! Because she can’t lose this girl on the table, can’t bear to perceive the image of her two friends and colleagues mourning and heartbroken because _she_ had let _them_ down! “The organ is healthy, it’s matched perfectly with Sarah, the donor had been healthy—”

“And we did all procedures correct,” Thor says, shaking his head as he continues to inspect the heart with Sharon. “Check for any injuries in the conduction tissues, or maybe we can start exploring the possibility of an external epicardial pacemaker—”

“This _isn’t_ a CHD, it should be impossible to have any injuries in the tissues—”

“Unless if you have _any_ other ideas at all, then we’ll—” Thor pauses, and Sharon furrows her eyebrows, about to ask what Thor is about to say or suggest, when she lifts her head to look up at him. Her eyes move to him, and she sees Thor looking up, his eyes trained on something above her head.

She furrows her eyebrows deeply, about to open her mouth to chide him, tell him to _focus,_ and help her inspect the heart, investigate on whatever is wrong when she turns to where he’s looking at, and immediately, she feels as if her heart has stopped, her blood almost immediately running cold with nervousness.

There Natasha is, the redheaded woman is looking at them, watching them from where she is in the gallery, her eyes wide and glassy, and her eyes trained _not_ on Thor but on the open chest of her daughter on the table, whose heart wouldn’t start no matter how many times they’ve shocked it and massaged it, the one they’re inspecting now as a last resort because no matter what they do, her heart just _won’t_ restart.

What must it feel like? Watching her unconscious daughter's chest opened up right in front of her? The two doctors who's supposed to save her repeatedly fail in the final step for her daughter's recovery? To witness her heart stop beating, a probable sign of...

God, she can't even _say_ it.

“Somebody tell Natasha to get out of the gallery,” Thor says firmly, his eyes locked on Natasha, his hands unwilling to move as if her mere presence is stopping him from continuing the procedure. “She shouldn’t be here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear, you will not hate me for the chapter after this one HAHAHA though it may not seem like it as of now. nonetheless, thanks for all the kudos, kind comments and reviews! hope you enjoyed this chapter, and happy easter, everyone! :)


	21. Bless the Broken Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW i haven't updated in so long and i'm very sorry for that (and for the cliffhanger the previous chapter). quarantine's been crazy and i've really been losing track of time, and a wave of other personal stuff came up so i had to deal with those things first before i'd really get to do anything.
> 
> but anyway, here's a new update (a long one at that, to make up for the very late update). it's one heck of a rollercoaster chapter, but i hope you enjoy!

Sometimes all Natasha could ever wish is that her entire life is just one whole fever dream.

It’s almost unbelievably eventful, as if she could never catch a break to even breathe properly by herself, or have some time just to actually  _ be _ herself, do whatever she wants instead of having to be pressured to fix something that had somehow gone wrong. Sometimes, she would find herself, in a strange and rare moment where she would have a little bit of free time, thinking  _ how _ and  _ what _ she had done to deserve such a fate, and to deserve such a kind of life that she would just immediately wish to be a fever dream.

And most of the time, after the dust settles and the waves would calm down, she would start to think that the universe was finally done giving her a hard time, and she would actually be happy. By then, she would think all the bad luck she has in the world is probably used up, and then  _ something _ always happens. Then she’s back to thinking that it seems like her bad luck had never run out in the first place, that it never  _ could, _ at all.

She turns at the intern beside her, eyes also looking at the O.R., and murmuring something to the phone he is holding. He seems to be reporting the entire operation carefully. At this point, though where the both of them can clearly see Thor and Sharon struggling to make her daughter’s heart beat again, revive her in  _ any _ way they know they can possibly do, there’s honestly not much he can do, not much he can report on. She doesn’t even know who he’s reporting to—

_ Steve. _ Of  _ course _ Steve can never go without the assurance that he will still be kept posted on the operation.

“Give me the phone,” Natasha says, extending her hand as she looks at the intern almost sternly. The intern’s eyes widen, stammering for something to say, something to tell her but she huffs a frustrated breath. “Give  _ me _ the phone. Is that Doctor Rogers in the other line?”

“I-it’s, it’s Doctor Morse’s intern, ma’am,” the intern responds nervously. “But Doctor Rogers...he’s in surgery with Doctor Morse, and they instructed me to update them during the entire—”

“Hang up and put the phone down,” Natasha instructs, but the intern begins to stammer again for a response. “Doctor Rogers is currently in surgery, and it’s obvious that the surgery he was telling you to report on is not fine. Any more further updates will only compromise his capabilities and the surgery.” She raises an eyebrow at the intern. “You tell the intern or I’ll tell the intern myself, your call.”

She normally wouldn’t do this, threaten an intern, make them do something that’s against another one of their superior’s commands or requests. It’s petty and mean, and she has never one to be such to the interns and residents. She  _ also _ knows she should be taking all of these out on Steve, who apparently has the  _ gall _ to use an intern to give him live updates on his own daughter’s operation, knowing very well what it could do to him and to the patient he is working on, should Sarah’s operation go south.

Which, apparently,  _ is. _ Going south, she means.

_ How? _ How in the  _ fucking  _ world is everything still not going right in her life?

She turns away from the intern, and instead focuses back on the O.R.. She sighs, watching as the team is frantically working, her eyes flickering over to the heart monitor still flashing a flatline on her daughter’s heart. She barely hears the intern murmuring how sorry he is that he has to hang up, barely hears her name being mentioned before the intern pulls the phone away from his ear and tuck it back in his coat pocket.

“You should go back down,” Natasha says quietly, her arms crossed over her chest, and in her periphery, she sees the intern turn his head to look at her. “They would need more help, you might as well go down.”

The intern shakes his head. “I-I’m on probation, ma’am,” he says, and Natasha furrows his eyebrows, her eyes not leaving the O.R.. “If Raymond...Doctor Morse’s intern didn’t ask me to be on the other end of the call for updates for Doctor Rogers, I would’ve still just ended up here anyway.” Natasha looks at him, a look of confusion in her eyes as he sighs and continues. “The intern inside Doctor Rogers’ O.R. —”

“That’s Raymond?” Natasha asks. “Raymond Rhodes?”  _ Raymond Rhodes, _ one of the hospital’s attending’s nephew. She remembers him.

The intern nods. “He’s the one not on probie,” he says, and Natasha gives a curt nod before looking back at the O.R.. “If he were here, he would easily go down to assist.”

“Or you could’ve just easily avoided what you did to earn a probation,” Natasha says pointedly, raising an eyebrow as she looks back at the intern who ducks his head in shame. “What did you do?” she asks. Because this conversation is straying her mind away from the present situation, and in all honesty, it’s what she needs. She needs a distraction, and since Steve isn’t here to give her that, might as well indulge the intern-on-probation’s presence.

The intern exhales a breath. “It’s nothing bad, ma’am, it’s...I’ve just been behind,” he says, and Natasha’s expression softens as he looks at the young man, his expression sad and defeated, and an  _ all _ different kind of shame she had read wrong earlier on. “The program director...Doctor Fury, he gave us feedback, and told me I’ve been lacking in clinical judgments, and it’s the same thing Doctor Reyes said too.”  _ Robbie Reyes, _ the new chief resident. Natasha’s heard he’s good, though the last time she was able to work with him, it had been quite some time. “Some other clinical deficiencies too. I blank out more often than I can recite clinical facts, and Doctor Reyes said that though I  _ do _ have sound medical knowledge, I just...I can’t synthesize them well enough on the spot.”

Natasha nods, and she looks back at the O.R.. “Being told you’re smart and have good hands aren’t enough for you to be considered as a good surgeon,” she says, and the intern nods. “What did Fury and Reyes say?”

“Doctor Fury recommended I write to the committee, extend my probation ‘till one year so I can catch up,” he says, and Natasha hums and nods in agreement. “But until then, I’m on night rotations mostly, and they recommended me to take additional SICU electives too so I could improve more on those aspects I lacked.” Natasha nods again, and the intern looks up at her and proceeds. “What...what do you think about that?”

Natasha looks back at the intern and blinks. What does  _ she _ think about that? “I mean if it’s Fury’s recommendations, I’m pretty sure you’d have to follow no matter what I say,” she says, and the intern sighs and nods. She quirks her lips to the side and thinks. “But...I do think it’s a right choice for you to appeal for an extension, since in this way, you’ll be able to enhance your knowledge and skills more, give yourself time, as well as alleviate the pressure from you to rush these skills into perfection. I also think the electives are good, considering the skills you lack. I’ve taken Nights before too, and it’s actually pretty helpful despite how challenging it is. But considering everything, I think that’s what you need the most, right?” she asks, meeting the intern’s eyes. “Some bit of a challenge to enhance your skills. That’s how you become a good surgeon.”

The intern nods, looking away momentarily from her. “It’s just difficult, I guess,” he says quietly. He looks back up to meet Natasha’s gaze. “But I’m not gonna quit. I think that’s...that’s what makes it more challenging.” Natasha nods. “I’m more determined to do good, do better,  _ not _ screw up this time, and...that’s what makes it harder, I guess.”

Natasha nods slowly, and she looks back at the O.R., down where Sarah’s chest is still open, and the heart monitor still shows a flatline. She purses her lips together.  _ Persevering, and actually wanting to survive, are two of the things that make life harder than it should. _ Of course she knows what it’s like—to fight and persevere, to  _ have _ to survive no matter how many times she wants to surrender to the tides and just give up. It’s perhaps one of the reasons why she loves wishing her life would be a fever dream, even though she’s sure it isn’t. Because in those moments she would, she could allow herself to—just for a moment—let go of the fight and not persevere as much as she is expected to. She could just  _ be. _

But her life has never been easy, and so there is no choice but to choose to survive. Life is  _ never _ at all easy, yet here she still stands.

“Medicine is not an easy field,” Natasha says. “More so surgery, when you’re basically playing god everyday and other people’s fates are in your hands, it’s not easy to take all of that in.” She pauses, her eyes widening slightly as she continues to watch the revival unfold in the O.R.. “But the hardest part in surgery is not the skills, nor is it the hands. It’s a surgeon’s judgment that tells her apart from the rest, the one that makes him or her better and more talented than the rest, and it’s reflected through clinical decisions.”

Natasha’s eyes are glued on the heart monitor and the vitals on the screen. Even from afar, she can see what says in those monitors, can still  _ hear _ everything going on inside that O.R. despite the mess inside her head and noise inside her heart. She takes a moment of pause, her eyebrow flicking up slightly, before she continues to the waiting intern. “You have a medical degree, and you’ve managed to get into one of the finest medical programs in the country, that means you’re meant for more than just a live report in a phone call,” she says, and she allows her eyes to flicker back to the intern to meet his gaze. “You have it in you, you know? Just keep on trying, take on whatever training is recommended to you and always do your best.”

The intern nods, but his eyes flicker back to the O.R., and Natasha sighs as she looks back as well. A silence falls over them, and after quite some time, Natasha takes a deep breath and swallows down the lump in her throat. “Don’t call Doctor Rogers,” she says, watching as Thor and Sharon lower their heads and put the tools down on the table. The intern doesn’t take his eyes off of the O.R. either, his eyes glued to the scene in front of them as he nods almost numbly and slowly. Natasha looks down at her feet and she purses her lips. “Let him finish his surgery first.”

If he can, and Natasha prays that he will do so as soon as he can. She walks over to the P.A. system in the gallery of the O.R., and, ignoring the stinging in the corners of her eyes as well as the constriction of her throat, she takes a shaky breath, willing her loud thumping heart to calm down even for just  _ one _ moment, she presses the button to speak.

Meanwhile, inside the emergency O.R., Steve turns his head to look at the intern. “Well? Any more news?” he asks, and the intern blinks at him slowly, the phone pressed against his ear in his hand. The intern’s eyes are wide, and he doesn’t look and meets Steve’s eyes, Steve’s impatience growing every moment as his frown deepens. Bobbi’s eyes flicker from the body, to Steve and then to the intern.

“Doctor Rogers asked for news,” Bobbi says, her eyes narrowing as she looks at the intern. “Tell us what the intern is telling you —”

“Doctor Romanoff is in the gallery watching the operation,” the intern says, and Steve’s eyes widen as Bobbi furrows her eyebrows in confusion. The intern looks away for a moment before looking back at the two attendings. “They’re having difficulty restarting the patient’s heart.”

Steve feels like the entire world is starting to crash down on him, piece by piece, slowly but surely, and  _ very _ excruciatingly painful. His heart starts thumping loudly against his chest, all noise in his surroundings fading and slowly being replaced by a loud, monotonous ringing noise as if vibrating inside his head, as if it’s mirroring the heart monitor whenever there’s a flatline.  _ Sarah’s heart, _ he thinks.  _ It’s the sound of Sarah’s heart. _

And more so, Natasha is there. Natasha is  _ watching, _ watching their baby fight and try to survive, and she’s all  _ alone. _

“What do you mean they can’t restart?” Steve barks, pulling himself immediately out of his reverie to turn and glare at the intern, as if it’s his fault. It’s not  _ his _ fault. It’s nobody’s fault, really, but still he feels the need to blame somebody, blame  _ anybody _ at all. “Answer me, what do you  _ mean _ they can’t restart her heart?” he demands.

“I-I don’t know, sir,” the intern stammers, and he pulls the phone away from his ear to look at it, put it back on his ear and pull it away. “Doctor Romanoff was on the phone. A-and she hung up.”

“She  _ what?” _

“She hung up, sir, she...she got a hold of the phone of the other intern and told me to put it down.” the intern explains.

“Call him back!” Steve barks, his voice raising and his emotions stirring wildly inside of him. “Call the intern back, and tell Doctor Romanoff —”

“Steve.” Bobbi calls back his attention, and suddenly the heart monitors start beeping rapidly. Steve looks back at the heart monitor, his eyes flickering quickly over at the stats. He mutters a swear under his breath, and shuts his eyes tight, forcing himself to focus and go back to where he is but he  _ can’t. _ He can’t think outside the monotonous ringing noise inside his head, can’t focus on anything else but the possibility that his little girl might…

_ God, _ the thought of it makes him want to throw up.

“Rogers!” Bobbi calls loudly as she starts working frantically, and so does Steve. He moves in accordance with reflex, developed from years and years or practice in medicine. He works to contain the bleeding, aiding Bobbi as she takes over the lead for the meantime in draining the blood and trying to contain the bleeding. Steve does his best to swim out of his thoughts, eyes trained and focused on the open chest cavity now filled with sponges and tubes to drain the blood out of.

“Heart rate is up to 160,” one of the residents announces loudly and clearly, yet her voice is still somehow unclear in Steve’s head, taking him a few more moments to understand the stats and the implications on it to the patient on the table.  _ Focus, Rogers, focus, _ he chides himself. “Systolic blood pressure is at 100-110.”

“Scans show an empyema, complete atelectasis of the left lower lobe, and a substantial shift of the mediastinum and heart into left chest,” Bobbi says, her eyes trained and focus on Steve, who does his best to understand and analyze, calculate and strategize with as much willpower he has. He was already focused earlier on, mind already set on the surgery but the mere news of his little girl’s surgery going wrong, and Natasha witnessing all of it alone had caught him  _ completely _ off guard. “But a thoracotomy was already performed earlier on—”

“There shouldn’t be any bleeding if we were only supposed to do a hernia reduction—”

“Unless there was something wrong with how we tried to repair the defect,” Bobbi says, and Steve frowns, shaking his head slightly as slowly, things are starting to make sense again, and the answers are starting to fall in the right places. He watches as Bobbi frantically works to stop the bleeding, searching for the defect and the hernia which they  _ barely _ even started on.

And just like that, it was as if a switch had been flipped inside his head, and everything snaps back into focus.

Bobbi continues. “Come on think. During decortication, a large vertical pericardial tear was identified running parallel to the phrenic nerve measuring fourteen—”

“If you’re thinking of immediate hernia reduction and defect repair, then it’s impossible,” Steve continues, his eyes meeting Bobbi’s as the trauma surgeon narrows her eyes at him and frowns. “Technically implausible and doing so will only worsen the bleeding and worsen the patient’s condition.”

“So what do you suggest we do?” Bobbi asks, her voice low, as if threatening, and Steve exhales a breath.

“Total decortication and leaving the defect open. We can’t close it unless, not if we want to save his life,” Steve responds, and Bobbi furrows her eyebrows. “We’ll intubate him for alveolar recruitment and left lower lobe expansion.” Bobbi shakes her head.

“Rogers, that’s not—”

“We’ll consistently monitor him after this,” Steve continues firmly, his eyes narrowing as he looks straight at Bobbi in the eyes. “Once the expansion occurs, the maneuver will happen on its own. If we force it now, the heart will be in more distress than it already is, causing  _ more _ bleeding and causing the patient’s life.”

“Steve, if this is your excuse to go out so you can go to Nat or Sarah, I am telling you, sacrificing a patient’s life isn’t it,” Bobbi says, and Steve furrows his eyebrows in confusion and annoyance.  _ They’re wasting time, _ he thinks.  _ Time for both the patient and for his time with Natasha and Sarah. _ “Both Sharon and Thor have it under control, there are  _ no _ other surgeons in cardio left and  _ you _ specialize in thoracics, so if you leave now—”

“Think about the CT you saw and you showed me earlier, the one showing the herniation through the defect, and the heart resting on a  _ compressed _ lower lobe of his left lung,” Steve says firmly, refusing to say any more of what Bobbi had said so as to not waste time. The patient finally stabilizes, the monitors beeping normally, showing normal patient stats and Bobbi focuses back her eyes on Steve. “You can’t fully expand a lobe by surgery, and this thing doesn’t just happen overnight. Once the expansion occurs, everything will normalize over time.” Steve looks at Bobbi imploringly as he sighs. “This isn’t an excuse, Bobbi. It’s science. This is thoracics. You asked for my consult, I’m giving it to you.”

Bobbi still furrows her eyebrows as if in contemplation and she exhales a breath as she shakes her head. “Just total decortication and we’ll let it go?” she clarifies once again, and Steve nods. “We’ll intubate him and this will allow for the lower lobe expansion and heart maneuver?”

“Yes,” Steve responds with a nod. “Extubation will depend on our monitoring, but insofar, if we do exactly  _ that, _ then complications will be less. And it will most definitely be less fatal and  _ way _ easier for everyone.” Steve sighs. He looks back at the operating table then back at Bobbi. “We’re redoing the entire decortication process because of the bleeding that occurred. This isn’t an escape plan for myself, Morse. This is my advice, as your consult for this case.”

Bobbi’s expression softens, and she looks away momentarily, her hands slowing down as Steve assumes back his position as lead surgeon, and he starts peeling off the layer of fibrous tissue that had gathered and covered the lungs, restricting its expansion and inhibiting the man’s chance at recovery. He is patiently waiting for Bobbi to respond, but he is also not going to waste more time on this man’s life and on being away from his girls for long. He attempts to compartmentalize, pushing down the panic, worry and anxiety already bubbling up inside of him.

What was Natasha thinking, going up in that gallery?

Steve huffs out a breath and turns to the intern, who is now assisting in giving out the tools and equipment. “I’m sorry, but I do have to ask for one last request,” he says gently, and the intern looks up and gives Steve a nod, as Bobbi looks back at him. “Can...can you please page Doctor Barnes, ask if he is available and if he could accompany Doctor Romanoff for the moment, make sure he’s okay.” He pauses in hesitation. “Tell him I was called in for an emergency surgery, and I’ll be up as soon as I can.”

Steve watches the intern nod, step away from the table as he removes his gloves to grab his phone lying on the table at the far end of the room, and Steve’s eyes flicker back to Bobbi, then at the operating table. “I at least have to make sure she’ll be okay, that she wouldn’t be alone,” Steve says quietly, and Bobbi nods in understanding as she proceeds to work as well. “If...if anything happens—”

“I’m sure nothing will,” Bobbi interrupts, raising an eyebrow at him as Steve sighs and relents with a nod. “Knowing Thor and Sharon, they’ll do whatever they can. This isn’t an impossible case, Steve.” Bobbi pauses, as Steve looks back up at her and regards her for a moment before looking back down to work. “And I think your plan’s really at best. You know these things better than I do. I’m sorry.”

Steve shakes his head. “I was emotional. I found out things were going south in my daughter’s surgery and my girlfriend is alone literally  _ watching _ all of it unfold,” he says quietly, looking back up at her. “You had every right to question me. Even if it’s something of the basics of my field. You know how it is, you forget even the most fundamental concepts when you’re in the high of it.”

Bobbi hums and nods, regarding Steve for a moment before going back to work, and Steve lets out a breath. “What do you think happened?” he asks quietly, pushing down his emotions and attempting to stabilize his voice and his breath. “What do you...what do you suppose happened down there? Why can’t her heart restart?”

His voice is quiet and hushed, and if Bobbi probably wouldn’t have been listening intently and attentively, she thinks she could’ve missed his question. Her eyes flicker quickly to look at Steve, before averting her eyes back on the operating table.  _ You forget even the most fundamental concepts when you’re in the high of it,  _ he said, and between the two of them, he is honestly the one more equipped with the better answers to these kinds of questions.

But like he said, and like he admitted, he’s not in the state to do so. So she thinks.

“The easiest answer would be that the valve doesn’t work, and it’s not compatible with Sarah’s heart,” Bobbi responds. “But that would very much be an insult to Doctor Carter, since I’m assuming she did the proper protocols to ensure that the donor was  _ indeed _ compatible with Sarah’s heart. If so...if it  _ is _ compatible yet it’s still not working, then maybe there could’ve been something wrong in the procedure, something they did that might have worsened the damage.”

Steve doesn’t respond for a moment, and the intern comes back, informing them that Bucky is in a surgery next room, though he’s got the message and will go to Natasha as soon as he is done. Steve thanks the intern, and he turns back at the operating table and at Bobbi. “Injuries,” he says quietly, and Bobbi hums. “What kind of injuries do you think...happened?”

Bobbi sighs. This isn’t at all her forte, and though she has learned these things throughout medical school and the earlier years of residency, she is  _ not _ at all as familiar and well-versed with these complex concepts and theories unlike Steve, Thor and Sharon are. “I don’t...I don’t know, Steve, I’m kind of out of my depth here too,” she admits quietly with a shake of her head as she continues to work on their patient. “But it could be just a minor one, just a blip they have to fix before they can properly restart her heart, and  _ actually _ make it work this time.”

He doesn’t respond again, and for a few moments they work in silence. Though the silence, Bobbi notes, is quite tense and heavy, as if anticipating for the worst in  _ any _ sense—may it be with their patient on the table or on Sarah’s condition—and all of them are just waiting for that particular shoe to drop. No more news from Sarah’s surgery comes in on the intern’s phone, and the next messages that followed were of the interns and residents being paged by their respective attendings, asking for their presence in their service, as the surgery had been unexpectedly extended because of the complications and sudden change in strategy. Bobbi had let go of the interns and residents being paged urgently, being left only with the intern in her service today.

And even after a few more moments, when they are more than halfway done, Steve still doesn’t say a word, and Bobbi is struggling to say something,  _ anything _ at all as a means to comfort this man.

“I remember when I first met Sarah,” Bobbi speaks up, and Steve looks up at her for a moment in curiosity and surprise, before focusing back on the operating table as they continue to work. “She was a still that little fragile thing, when Natasha first brought her to work after her maternity leave. I wasn’t around much when she gave birth, since we weren’t particularly close then, and I was also working under fellowship back then. But I remember the day I  _ first _ saw Sarah, I think that was the night when I was just about to start my shift and she was about to go.”

Bobbi remembers that instance still vividly to this day, since that had somehow become the very cornerstone of their friendship, the moment they started to become friends, and became even closer since then.

“Sarah was  _ very _ little, just a little over four months, and Nat had just finished nursing her when I came in the lounge,” she continues, and the corner of her lips quirk into a small smile. “I remember telling her that, that she’s just  _ so _ little. Not little as in sickly or malnourished per se, she’s just small. Petite. Like how she kind of is now compared to other toddlers her age?” Steve nods, letting out a small chuckle at that, and Bobbi smiles and nods as well. “Nat told me she took after her in that sense, and I remember holding my tongue in saying I wished she could’ve gotten the height from you.” Steve chuckles softly and shakes his head, and Bobbi’s smile widens as she lets out a soft chuckle. “I went closer to check on the baby, and then she gripped my finger  _ real _ tightly for a four-month-old back then.”

Steve grins. “She still has that pretty strong grip ‘till now.” he says softly, and Bobbi hums as she nods.

“Guess she had it in her since then,” Bobbi says. “She was small but she was strong, always had been very strong, that it came as a shock, I guess, to  _ all _ of us, when eleven months after she was diagnosed with a CHD.” Bobbi pauses, eyes flickering to look at Steve, as if gauging his reaction to the mention of his daughter’s surgery he had missed, and he had been guilty of, as far as what Natasha had told Bobbi before.  _ He looks like it now too, _ she thinks, as she observes and regards Steve’s furrowed eyebrows and slight frown on his face.  _ Guess the guilt never goes away. _

“But she still came out strong after that, you know? At that time, it may have not seemed like it, with all the complications that occurred, and all the things she and Nat had gone through...it may have not seemed like it at first at all, but she still did.” Bobbi smiles softly, as Steve looks up at her, his eyes glassy and wide. “She’s small, but she is  _ very  _ strong. That’s how I knew your daughter, Steve, and that’s how I still see her now.”

_ A little Natasha, _ they say. That’s how they always dub Sarah, how they always refer to her whenever they would see the girl with her mother and father. She’s heard Steve call his daughter as such, too. But Bobbi calls her so not only because of the obvious inherited traits from her mother, or because of the mannerisms she’s adapted from Natasha, but because of the strength she embodies, the strength she knows she must’ve gotten from her mother for this toddler to still stand strong despite the storms she has faced as a child.

And just like her mother, no amount of heartbreak (quite literally, in Sarah’s case) can ever break her, as she will only come out stronger and better than before.

They’re nearly done with the procedure, and Bobbi smiles at this, as she looks up to find Steve looking up at her, his eyes imploring and wide, afraid and anxious, yet she also sees how much he is struggling to keep his facade strong and firm. She sees the hint of pride in his eyes too, probably being comforted by the fact that his daughter had inherited all her best traits from her mother, the love of his life, but she can see it being overshadowed by fear. “Do you really think she can make it?” he asks quietly, his voice hushed, barely above a whisper, and enough for  _ only _ Bobbi to hear.

_ Without a doubt, _ Bobbi thinks. And she hopes she is not wrong.

“Why don’t you go see for yourself,” Bobbi tells him, giving him a small smile and a nod as Steve frowns in confusion. “We’re nearly done here, and I think I’ve got this part covered until post-op.”

Steve’s eyes widen, almost unbelievably. “A-are you sure?” he asks, though he is already putting his tools down. “Are you sure, are…” He shakes his head. “Bobbi, are—”

“I’m  _ sure, _ Steven,” Bobbi says with a light laugh. She nods over at him. “Now go be with your girls. “I’m sure Nat is especially  _ dying _ to be with you again.”

Steve thanks her over and over, even as he removes his gloves and his mask, and Bobbi chuckles when she sees the tears filling his eyes as he smiles widely at him, and she watches as he steps out of the O.R., ripping off his operating gown, removing his mask and cap, and quickly scrubbing off before eventually exiting the room. Bobbi chuckles and shakes her head once again, before she focuses back on her work.

Steve, on the other hand, walks fast and frantically through the pit, taking long and big strides up to the elevator, and pressing the button going up. He’s fidgety, unable to rest and unable to keep his hands on his sides or his feet unmoving. He taps his foot patiently against the floor as he waits for the elevator doors to open, and presses the button to the surgical floor urgently multiple times, watching as the doors finally close and feels the elevator going up. He prays for no interruptions, the elevator not stopping on any other floor but the floor that he wants it to stop. He takes a shaky breath and shakes his head, his mind unable to think of anything or anyone else but his two girls— _ Natasha and Sarah, Natasha and Sarah _ —his mind wondering how they are, if the surgery is done, what Natasha is doing,  _ how _ Natasha is doing—

And the door to the surgical floor opens.

He steps out quickly, brushing past nurses, interns, residents and attendings, to make his way to the waiting room only to find it empty of a redheaded woman.  _ Where’s Nat?, _ he asks himself.  _ Where’s Nat? How is Sarah? Where’s Nat?  _ He walks to the gallery of the O.R. Sarah is in, and finds it empty as well, and when he looks down at the operating room…

It’s empty.  _ All _ empty.

Where’s Nat? How’s Sarah?

“Steve,” Bucky’s breathless voice comes in, and Steve turns to find Bucky removing his surgical cap, his eyes wide as he enters the gallery and finds the O.R. empty. Steve regards his best friend, and Bucky turns to him. “I-I’m sorry, I know you asked, but my surgery ended later than—”

“It’s fine, Buck, I…” Steve trails off, turning back to the empty O.R., and Bucky follows his line of sight. He looks back at Steve and shakes his head lightly.

“Did something happen?” he asks. “You requested for me to accompany Nat, and it sounded urgent. Did something happen?” he asks again. “Is...is Sarah okay?”

_ Is she? _ Steve’s not sure. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head slightly as he looks back at his best friend.

“I don’t know,” he responds, and Bucky furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “Come on, they...they must be in the PICU, or in the recovery rooms.”

Bucky nods, following Steve out of the gallery as they turn a corner to the elevators. Steve purses his lips together, tapping his foot impatiently as he waits for the elevator to open to take them to the pediatric floor. Bucky observes him keenly, looking up at the elevator as it opens, and allowing Steve to get in first before he follows. He presses the button to the pediatric floor, and turns to find Steve running the fingers of both of his hands through his hair.

He is about to ask what happened, if he knew something, why he was calling so urgently for him, when Steve speaks first. “I was called by Morse for an emergency, since everyone in cardio was filled,” Steve says, looking back at Bucky with glassy eyes as he rests back on the elevator wall, resting his hands on his hips and looking at his best friend almost defeatedly. He shakes his head and looks down at his feet. “I left Nat alone, and I asked an intern to report things happening in Sarah’s surgery while I was doing mine with Bobbi. In the middle of my surgery, the intern reported that Natasha was in the gallery watching...and Sarah’s heart can’t be restarted.”

Bucky’s eyes widen, his heart thumping fast and loud against his chest as the corner of Steve’s mouth quirks down, shaking his head as he looks back up at his best friend. “I can’t…” he whispers, and he exhales a breath. “Morse let me go, and when I got there, surgery was done.”

“It must’ve worked,” Bucky says quietly, his voice small and uncertain, even though he didn’t mean for it to sound like so, but there’s only  _ so _ much he can do, though. “It must’ve worked...or you would’ve known. They would’ve let you know if...” Bucky trails off, and looks away, and Steve sighs. He knows exactly what he means.

“Nat ordered the intern to put the phone down,” he says, and Bucky looks back up at him. Steve shakes his head. “She told him to put the phone down, and...I don’t know how to make of that.”

Bucky shakes his head. “If you were to hear bad news on your daughter during surgery, how’d you think you were gonna react? How did  _ you _ react when you found the news out mid-surgery?” he asks, and Steve clenches his jaw and looks away.  _ Complications lengthening the surgery, _ it’s exactly what happened. “She was probably thinking that there should be no trading of lives, that you should focus on your work while she waits for Sarah.”

“Or the surgery actually  _ did _ go south,” Steve says, and Bucky sighs, shaking his head as he watches Steve’s eyes turn glassy, the corners of his mouth quirking down as he shakes his head. “It’s not impossible, Buck. And I’ve a feeling that it was the case.”

Steve steps out as soon as the doors open, and Bucky follows after him, keeping up with the strides he’s taking and as well as his pace. They turn to PICU hall, and find Natasha speaking quietly with Thor and Sharon. Her back is facing them when the two men spot her, and only when Thor cranes his neck upon spotting them does Natasha turn around to face them, and there Bucky sees it.

Somehow, Steve is right. Things didn't go as well as they expected it to be.

He pauses in his tracks, watching as Natasha buries her face in Steve’s arms, and he embraces her tightly, pressing his lips on her hair. He watches her shoulders racking in sobs, and he looks up to meet Sharon’s eyes as he approaches them carefully. The three doctors take a safe distance away from the two.

“What happened?” Bucky asks. “She’s in the PICU?”

Sharon sighs and looks up at Thor who nods solemnly. “Her heart wouldn’t restart when we were just about to end, and we found out it was a first-degree AV block,” she explains. “We fixed it, in such that it wouldn’t be a problem soon after but we had to put it in an external pacemaker to ensure proper contractions and regular rhythm.”

“She’ll be under critical observation over the next 24 hours in the PICU, then we’ll run an ECG again tomorrow. If things go well, she’ll be alright in no time,” Thor says, and Bucky nods in understanding. “If not, well...we may have to discuss other options.”

“But she’s...she’s alive?” Bucky asks, and both surgeons nod. “Just...just critical.”

Thor nods. “Temporarily so,” he says with a nod. “But we’re both positive things will go alright. The block was caused by an increase in vagal tone, pointed out by Natasha herself—luckily, I suppose, she was watching all of it from the gallery—though it is idiopathic. We’ve addressed that issue too, with her help. I guess for now, we just wait.”

Bucky turns once again to find Steve running his hand on Natasha’s back comfortingly, murmuring something in her ear as she nods against his chest. She pulls herself closer towards him, and he watches as Steve does his best to prevent the tears that have filled his eyes to spill. He must’ve known everything by now, Bucky supposes, and he thinks it’s enough of a reason to be partially relieved, if not completely.

“She’s crying like she’s lost her,” Bucky murmurs, and Sharon turns to find the same scene Bucky is looking at, and turns back as Thor follows suit. “She went down there? Scrubbed in surgery?”

“No, she asked one of the residents who’d been under her service to perform the tests and administer the meds. She dictated all the instructions through the P.A., and, well, fortunately, she was able to follow,” Thor responds with a small shrug. His eyes then flicker back over to Steve and Natasha. “That must have been shock, definitely not grief. And, well...the entire ordeal is tiring as a parent, so we’d understand the tears.”

“She couldn’t stop since we got a weak arrhythmic heartbeat,” Sharon says quietly as she shakes her head. “She must’ve thought of the worst, I guess. But once the worst is over…” She shrugs, and Bucky nods.

Once the worst is over, the reality has settled in, probably, that though she might have not gotten the worst outcome she could possibly imagine for her little girl, the outcome still hasn’t caught up with what she wanted, or what she had been  _ told. _ Sarah is still not yet out of the woods, and even with the words of assurance, and even just trying to understand the science of it all, Bucky can understand how it must be hard for both of them to still hear those words.

But he can only imagine what Natasha must feel like. She’s gone through this  _ twice _ already, each time with certain after effects that would devastate her as much as it would destroy Sarah’s body. But there’s a difference, Bucky supposes, to the events of before and today.

Unlike before, she’s not alone anymore. And Bucky supposes he could be thankful even for just  _ that _ on her behalf.

“So we just wait, then?” Bucky asks, crossing his arms over his chest, and he watches both cardiac surgeons nod. “Would you know the rotation of interns and residents? Who’s going to be assigned to her?”

Because as much as it would sound unruly and unfair, Bucky wants  _ all _ the best for his goddaughter, and for the daughter of his two closest friends. He needs to make sure she’d get proper care from the best staff they have, and if it’s the only thing he can do now, then so be it.

Sharon seems to have sensed this too, this sudden risen responsibility that sprung up inside Bucky, and she purses her lips and nods. She looks up at Thor and he lifts a shoulder to shrug. “I’d normally say to wait up and ask the chief resident, but I suppose for now, we can make an exception,” he says, and Bucky nods as he purses his lips. “I’ve got Maximoff tomorrow morning under my service, as far as I can remember, and I don’t have a night shift for today.”

“I have, and I have Wilson tonight,” Sharon says with a nod. “I’d recommend their service for Sarah’s care. Good care will be delivered regardless of which intern will be with them. I can also arrange on who’s going to be put in the PICU shift, specifically under whose care will Sarah be.”

Bucky nods. “That’s good,” he says with a nod. He then turns back to find the two already seated, Natasha’s head resting on Steve’s shoulder, her eyes closed and their fingers intertwined. Steve has an arm wrapped around her shoulder, drawing lazy patterns on her shoulder as he stares off into empty space, probably waiting for what’s next and what they would expect. He turns back to Thor and Sharon. “Is it too much to also ensure  _ they’ll _ be taken care of as well?”

Sharon gives Bucky a small smile. “I think you won’t have to ask for that one, Barnes,” she says quietly, and Thor nods in agreement as Bucky chuckles and nods. “We’ll keep them posted, and as well as everyone, too, of Sarah’s progress. I’ll go double check the shifts for Sarah.”

“And I’ll go inform the both of them,” Thor says. Sharon gives the two men a nod and walks off, and Thor sighs. “They, too, will be okay, right?” he asks.

_ That, _ Bucky thinks.  _ Is something he’s not sure of, nor he can say will be true. _ But he wishes for them to be fine too. He wishes for  _ everyone _ to be fine.

And so the day passes, with both Steve and Natasha in the PICU, just beside Sarah’s bed, watching the interns, residents and nurses come in and out, constantly checking in on Sarah’s vitals and changes, should there be any. Their friends come in and visit too, quite a few at a time, still in accordance with the guidelines of the hospital, though they visit more for the sake of showing their own moral and emotional support to their friends, since Sarah is still “unfortunately unmoving and unchanging”, as what Sam had reported to Steve and Natasha when it was  _ his _ turn in the evening to check on Sarah.

Like Steve doesn’t know. He checks on his own daughter himself every half an hour or so, quite  _ more _ than what the staff are doing to regular patients.

Neither Steve nor Natasha leave the other all that much, nor do they speak as much as well. They had gone in the cafeteria for a quick lunch earlier that day, just mere minutes after Thor had spoken to them of Sarah’s recovery process. They’ve bought a few light snacks, gotten their stuff, and since then, they haven't left the PICU. Natasha had quickly fallen asleep too, right after their light dinner, and Steve tucks her in on the small spare bed beside Sarah’s, before flopping down on the couch beside her.

Just like that. It’s another lonely and unsure night.

After a few more times of Sam checking in on Sarah’s vitals, each time the resident insists on Steve quizzing him on the science surrounding Sarah’s condition (to which he complies, if only to remove his head from the nothingness and silence of the room), Steve decides to turn in. He grabs the spare blanket in the cabinet and changes into his pyjamas before pressing a good night kiss on Sarah’s forehead and Natasha’s head, and proceeding to lay on the couch. It’s a relatively smaller couch than the one in their room days prior, but then again, he’s also not one to complain.

_ It’s only for tonight, _ he tells himself.  _ Only for tonight, then we’re out of the PICU, and on to the normal recovery rooms. _

He could only wish for it to come true. He badly  _ wishes _ for it to come true.

Natasha stirs on the bed, groaning softly as one arm reaches towards him, and he inches closer, taking her hand in his, and pressing a light kiss on the back of her hand. She cracks one eye open, frowning slightly when her eyes land on the stack of pillows on the couch. “So far away.” she murmurs, and Steve chuckles quietly.

“Don’t wanna make you uncomfortable,” he tells her softly, his thumb brushing on her hand gently as she groans and scrunches her face sleepily. Steve smiles and brushes his fingers through her hair. “It’s alright, I’m still here.”

“I know,” she replies sleepily, her eyes blinking heavily as she smiles sleepily and he chuckles softly, leaning to press a kiss on her lips. “Still so far away, though.”

He knows. He knows and it’s  _ killing _ him. “But too late to get a new extra bed,” Natasha continues sleepily, and she huffs out a breath, her eyebrows furrowing as she closes her eyes. “Don’t want you far away.”

Steve sits on the edge of the extra bed, and he smiles as he starts massaging Natasha’s scalp soothingly and gently with his free hand, the other one holding her hand in his. “It’s okay. I’ll be here ‘till you fall back asleep,” he says softly, and he leans down once again to press a kiss on her lips as she hums against his mouth and settles back in her pillow. “I’m just here, ‘mkay?”

“‘Kay,” Natasha responds sleepily, and her smile fades as she exhales a breath. “D’you think Sarah will wake up tomorrow?” she asks.

Steve feels his throat constrict and tighten, the corners of his eyes stinging as he swallows the lump in his throat and nods. “I think she will,” he says quietly, pausing when his voice cracks and he lets out a small smile when Natasha opens an eye again. “She will. She’ll get better, because she’s strong. Strong as her Mommy, you know?” Steve smiles when Natasha hums sleepily and he chuckles, massaging her scalp soothingly, in a pattern he knows she likes, and he knows she will fall asleep to. “She’s definitely got that from you.”

Natasha hums and lets out a small chuckle. “Charmer,” she mutters, and he laughs softly, pressing a kiss on the side of her head. “Steve?” she asks sleepily, and Steve hums again in acknowledgment. She gives him a smile, her eyes drooping sleepily, and he knows in a matter of a minute or so, she’ll fall asleep once again. “Want another one.”

_ An unusual request. _

He stops, his eyes widening, as Natasha’s smile widens, her eyes opening as she looks up at him with heavy eyelids. “You want another what?” he asks, even though he  _ knows _ what it is she’s asking. She chuckles softly, because of course she knows that he knows, only that he must have been unsure of what  _ exactly _ he has heard.

“‘Nother baby,” she mumbles, letting out a sleepy smile and a yawn, and Steve chuckles softly, resuming the massaging pattern on her scalp. “When the time comes, I want another one. Boy this time, so Sarah can have a brother.”

“So Sarah can have a playmate?” Steve asks, and Natasha hums and nods.

“Dreamt of him, y’know, b’fore I woke up tonight,” she tells him, her words slurring sleepily, but she fights against it as she opens her eyes again to meet his gaze, and she smiles up sleepily at him. “Dreamt of our little baby boy.”

Steve chuckles, his heart wildly fluttering inside his chest, and he is unable to contain the wide smile on his face as he smiles widely down at her. “Yeah?” he asks. He could see it too. He could see their baby boy too, should they be ever given the chance to have another one. “What did he look like?” he asks.

“Beautiful,” she answers, and Steve hums and nods, pressing another kiss on her head as she hums and smiles widely. “Has your eyes. Beautiful blue eyes. Could stare at it all day.”

“Maybe this time, he’ll get your hair too,” Steve says, and Natasha smiles widely and nods. “Sarah’s gonna be really excited when she hears what we have planned.” Steve chuckles softly. “She’s gonna be the best sister, you know? The best big sister there is.”

Natasha hums. “She’s gonna love him so much,” she responds, and she looks up once again to meet his gaze. “Promise me we’ll have a baby boy, okay?” she asks.

Steve hums, and he smiles widely, letting out a soft chuckle, finally allowing himself to voice the thoughts that have been stored up in his head for  _ so _ long, since they’ve restarted their relationship. “I’m gonna marry you first, you know?” he asks, and Natasha’s eyes open in surprise. She lets out a soft chuckle as Steve grins. “We’re gonna get married first before we have a baby boy, and I promise you that.”

“Promises, promises,” Natasha teases softly and sleepily, and Steve laughs at that as he nods, and Natasha smiles widely up at him. “Gonna have to ask me more properly, Doctor Rogers. ’M half asleep and drowsy right now, and we’re in the hospital. This ain’t it yet.” Steve chuckles and nods.

_ Oh, if only she knew. _

“I know, sweetheart. I’m not off the hook just yet,” Steve responds softly, pressing a kiss on the tip of her nose. “When the dust settles, and I mean  _ finally _ settles, I promise. It’s gonna be the best one yet.”

“Oh I bet,” Natasha murmurs with a chuckle, and Steve lets out a soft laugh as he smiles down at her. “I love you, Steve. I really do.”

Steve smiles, pressing another kiss on her head and on her lips, as he rubs their noses together. “I love you too, Nat. I love you  _ very _ much.” he responds, as Natasha hums contentedly, closing her eyes and letting out a soft sigh.

Steve waits until her breath evens out, until she has finally fallen asleep, before he plants a small kiss on her head and untangles himself from her. He allows the bliss of their conversation and promise to envelop him, and to eventually lull him to sleep. He allows for the hope he has in his heart to take over and steer his dreams into good ones. He allows the love they have for each other, more so the love  _ he _ has for her, to just consume him tonight.

He thinks this will be the last of it, this grief and anxiety they’ve always had hanging above their heads. He has a strong feeling this will be the last, and the rest of the days will mostly be spent in sunshines. No, he doesn’t wish for complete perfection, as he knows more than anyone it’s an impossible feat nobody can ever achieve, but he  _ does _ wish for the best to happen for the rest of their lives. And so as he closes his eyes and fall into slumber, he allows himself to dream of tomorrow—when their baby girl will finally wake up and be better, he would be able to hold her again in his arms, and he would be able to hear her soft bright voice once again, calling him and laughing with him.

_ Daddy! _ Sarah would say, her arms extending as an invitation for him to pick her up or embrace her, and he would. He dreams of her cuddles and her small body enveloped around his. That evening, Steve sleeps with a small smile on his face.

Natasha wakes the following morning to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and bread, squinting at the bright sunlight passing through the hospital window. She then feels a strong set of arms wrap around her body, along with light kisses on her neck and hair as she giggles and squirms. The arms around her tighten and she hums, leaning towards the touch, craning her neck to turn and kiss Steve. He hums against her mouth and she smiles when he presses another kiss on her neck.

She could get used to this. She  _ has _ gotten used to this, and she can’t wait for another lifetime of it.

A  _ lifetime _ of it.  _ I’m gonna marry you first, you know?, _ he told her last night, and even as she had been half-asleep and drowsy, she remembers it. She remembers all of it.

“While you were asleep, I made a quick run to the hospital cafeteria. I bought us some coffee and bread, just to get us until lunchtime,” Steve murmurs against her hair and she hums and smiles, turning in his arms to properly face him and press a chaste kiss on his lips. “Bought you that muffin you’ve always liked.”

Natasha smiles widely, brushing his cheek with her thumb gently. “The ones with the chocolate chips, one you’ve always said look  _ burnt?” _ she teases, and Steve laughs softly as he chuckles and nods, squeezing her hips lightly.

“For the record, I  _ did _ admit it tasted good,” Steve says, and Natasha laughs softly and nods. “And I bought some of the hazelnut coffee you liked too, apart from the brewed Americano one.”

“Are you trying to get me out of bed by listing down  _ all _ the things you bought?” she asks, and Steve gives her a sheepish smile as she chuckles and presses a kiss on the tip of his nose. “It’s sorta working, you know.”

“‘Course it does. It’s not like you can resist the chocolate muffin in the cafeteria,” Steve says, and Natasha punches him lightly on the arm as he chuckles. “And it’s not like you couldn’t resist  _ me, _ either.” Natasha hums and grins.

“If I couldn’t resist  _ you, _ sweetie, I wouldn’t get up from  _ this _ bed at all,” she purrs, and Steve chuckles, pressing a long kiss on her lips. “D’you see my struggle here? You or the muffin, hm?” Steve scrunches his nose and laughs.

“Can’t believe my competition is a  _ muffin.” _ he says, and Natasha smiles widely. Steve gets up, as Natasha extends her arms so he can pull her up. She immediately presses a quick kiss on his lips as she smiles brightly.

“You’re still the one I’ll choose, don’t you worry.” she says with a wink, chuckling as she watches Steve blush furiously, ducking his head to hide a shy smile as she saunters over to the small table where their breakfast is. She turns, her eyes landing on their little girl as she lets out a small smile, walking over to press a gentle kiss on her forehead and brush her hair lovingly.

_ Today’s the day, _ she thinks. She hopes for today to be beautiful and hopeful. She hopes that today, things will be looking up in every aspect of her life.

“Hey, baby,” she whispers, smiling at her daughter’s sleeping form, her eyes flickering over to the pacemaker, and the wires connected from it to her chest. She observes the normal up and down movement of her chest, an indication of  _ life, _ an indication that she is breathing and she  _ will _ be okay. “You’re gonna wake up for both Mommy and Daddy today?” She presses another kiss on her hair, and feels Steve lay a hand on her back. She looks up at him. “D’you say good morning to her yet?”

“I did,” Steve responds softly with a gentle smile. “One of the first things I did when I woke up. We also had our own little Dad-and-Sarah moment, just the two of us.”

Natasha hums and smiles, straightening herself as she brushes her fingers through Sarah’s hair. “What did you guys talk about?” she asks, and Steve chuckles, pressing a kiss on her temple.

“Sarah told me to keep it a secret from Mommy,” he responds, and Natasha laughs softly and shakes her head. “But she  _ did _ tell me to always keep in mind, to remind you to eat your breakfast first before anything else.” Natasha hums and shrugs.

“Guess I’m lucky to have both of my favorite people to be  _ so _ concerned about me eating.” she says with a smirk, and Steve laughs, leading her to the table where their food is. He gives her her muffin and cup of coffee, and they walk to sit on the couch.

_ I’m gonna marry you first, you know? _ She can’t get it out of her mind, can’t get his voice out of her head, and it makes her heart flutter yet also beat wildly against her chest. He meant what he said, right? He meant every word of it, that they’re gonna spend their whole lifetime together?

“Steve?” Natasha starts, and Steve turns to look at her with a smile, as he munches on his own bread. She gives him a small smile. “About...about what you said last night…” she trails off, a blush forming on her cheeks as she looks at Steve, who gives her a wide and bright smile.

“When I said I was gonna marry you?” he asks softly, and Natasha lets out a soft laugh as she nods, and Steve inches himself closer to her. He smiles widely and nuzzles his nose in her hair, pressing a light kiss on her temple as she giggles. “I am, you know. I stand by it.” he says, and Natasha smiles widely as she nods.

“And you stand by  _ you _ asking me properly first before I say anything?” she asks lightly, and Steve laughs softly as he nods.

“I do,” he responds softly. “Like I said last night, when the dust settles, and I mean  _ finally _ settle.” He smiles and lifts a free hand to cup her cheek, thumb brushing on the apple of her cheek gently. His smile widens, and he lets out a soft chuckle. “Did  _ you _ mean it when you said you dreamt of our little boy?”

Natasha giggles softly and nods. “I do. I dreamt of him again last night.” he says, and Steve smiles widely, because what are the odds?

“Me too,” he responds, and Natasha smiles widely. “I dreamt of our whole family, you know. You, me, Sarah, and our little boy.” Steve smiles widely. “I saw our little boy in my dreams, Nat, and you’re right when he said he’s  _ beautiful, _ absolutely an angel.”

Natasha laughs softly, feeling her heart fluttering inside her chest and the corner of her eyes stinging with tears. She’s so overwhelmed with emotions, overwhelmed with this conversation, but she would  _ never _ want it at all to end. “Yeah?” she whispers, and Steve laughs softly as he nods.

“A little boy with mussy red hair and blue eyes. We were on the beach, and he was in your arms while you watched me chase Sarah down the shoreline. She absolutely  _ loved _ the sea,” Steve says softly, and Natasha laughs softly, nodding for Steve to proceed, her own head imagining everything that he’s saying. And she agrees, it is  _ absolutely _ beautiful, something she could look forward to after this storm in her life. “When I finally swooped Sarah in my arms, we went to the both of you so we could all watch the sunset together. Our little boy was reaching for his big sister, and you know what we called him?”

“Like his name?” Natasha asks softly, and Steve nods.

“We called him James,” Steve responds softly, and Natasha smiles widely, her eyes filling with tears.  _ Little James, her little James Rogers. _ “I don’t know why we did, but...it’s his name. It’s what we called him in my dreams.”

She doesn’t know why, either, but she finds it beautiful, finds it so right.  _ Their little James, _ she thinks, as she lets out a soft giggle at the thought. James, who has his mother’s hair and father’s beautiful blue eyes. James, who loves his sister  _ so _ much, and his parents. Their beautiful little James. He feels real. He feels  _ so _ real, like she’s looking into the future and there he is. She couldn’t stop thinking about him, and she supposes that she shouldn’t.

It’s gonna happen. It’s gonna happen  _ this _ time.

“I like James,” she says softly, and Steve laughs softly as he nods, and Natasha nods as well as she smiles widely up at him, lifting a hand to cup his face as she leans to press a soft kiss on his lips. “Yeah. That sounds like our little boy.”

_ Our little boy, _ Sarah’s baby brother, her and Steve’s son.  _ Her _ son.

If somebody around last year were to tell her that a year later, Steve would come back, they would fall in love once again, fix their family and start thinking of marriage and having a second child with him, she probably would’ve scoffed at the idea, laughed and shrugged it off, or even be appalled and offended by the idea. Once upon a time, she had always allowed herself to settle on the idea that it would just be her and Sarah for life, that there would be nobody else with them, not even Steve should he come back. But over the last couple of months, though the road had never been straight, and she had to fight her way through doubts and fears, while he had to fight his way to gain her trust and love back, she had found herself as if going back to how she had been with Steve when she had first fallen in love with him—in love, hopeful and happy.

Her heart aches at the broken road they had to take to get here, and perhaps if she could wish for things to have been easier, she would. If she could wish for things to change; for Steve to never leave, for Sarah to never have to be sick, for her life to have been any way  _ easier, _ she would wish for all of it in a heartbeat. But she supposes what matters now is the present, that they are together, and they  _ will _ have a future with their family together.

They hear a small cough from the bed, and both parents stand and proceed over to the bed quickly. “Sarah?” Natasha whispers, brushing the hair from her daughter’s head gently, watching as her toddler furrows her eyebrows and coughs, whimpering as her eyelids slowly flutter open. Natasha feels as if her heart can leap out of her chest at any given moment. “Sarah, baby? It’s Mommy, can you hear me? It’s Mommy and Daddy.”

“Stats are stable. Pacemaker seems to be working fine,” Steve says, and he turns to face Sarah’s bed, as the toddler whimpers softly, her fingers twitching as she scrunches her face and slowly opens her eyes. Steve’s eyes widen, and a smile forms on his face as he leans down closer to his daughter. “Hey. Hey, little girl.” Steve whispers, smiling as he feels tears gathering in his eyes. He presses a soft kiss on her forehead and Natasha laughs softly, tears slipping down her face as she presses a kiss on Sarah’s head and the toddler turns to look at her.

“Hey, little one.” Natasha says softly, and the toddler blinks heavily as she smiles sleepily at her mother.

“How you feeling, Sarah?” Steve asks softly, and he gives her a smile when the toddler turns her head to look at her father, giving him a sleepy smile as well. Steve smiles widely, brushing his thumb against her soft cheek. “You feeling okay? You feeling good? Nothing hurts?”

Sarah whimpers, and she looks down to find the wires on her chest, following it to the pacemaker. “This is helping your heart beat better, baby,” Natasha explains softly and with a gentle smile. “It helps you get better, too. Is it hurting you?” she asks.

Sarah observes it for a moment before she shakes her head. “Look robot,” she says softly, and both Steve and Natasha laugh softly at that, as Natasha brushes Sarah’s hair and presses a kiss on her forehead. “Connected...connected to machine.” she adds, and Steve chuckles and nods.  _ Oh, _ his bright little girl.

“You won’t be connected to it for long, baby, don’t you worry,” Steve says gently, and Sarah looks up at him and smiles widely as Steve taps the tip of her nose with his index finger. “We’ll have Auntie Sharon come here and have a look at you, alright? So we can see if we can remove it already.”

Sarah nods, settling her head back in her pillow as her eyes start to droop. “Mkay.” she responds, and Natasha looks up at Steve who gives her a nod before he pulls his phone out to page Sharon, reporting how Sarah is awake, and if there is anything they can do to possibly remove the pacemaker, or have a decision on it.

In no time, Sharon along with Sam come rushing into the PICU, the pediatric surgeon forming a huge smile on her face when she sees Sarah awake and alive. “Sarah?” she calls, and the toddler turns her head and giggles when she sees her auntie as she laughs and quickly walks over to the bed, laying a hand on her forehead, scanning all vital screens and heart monitors to find everything normal.

She looks and sounds relieved, as Natasha observes her. She smiles as she watches Sharon lean down to give the little girl a small embrace. She isn’t Doctor Carter for the meantime. She’s just Auntie Sharon, relieved to see the little girl, whose life she was entrusted to, is alive and well and  _ alright. _ If she were just merely Doctor Carter, then Natasha supposes this wouldn’t be how she would react. She wouldn’t hug a patient, be overjoyed and practically jumping up and down to find her alive and normal.

It’s one of the changes Natasha is grateful for too, this mended friendship she has with Sharon, and now their changed and deeper friendship because of Sarah.

Her phone rings, and when she looks at it, she finds her sister’s name on the screen. Her eyes widen. She’s never told her sister about  _ anything _ that’s happened, and she furrows her eyebrows, feeling her heart thumping against her chest. Why would she call? Is she okay? Does she know about Sarah? If so,  _ how? _

Her eyes meet Steve’s, who looks up at her with concern in his eyes. “It’s my sister,” she says, and Steve raises his eyebrows, as if in surprise. “Have to take this. You okay in here?”

“Yeah, go ahead.” Steve says with a smile, and Natasha smiles back as she steps out of the room to take the call.

Sharon turns to look at Natasha who just left the room, then at Steve. “You haven’t told her?” she asks, and Steve shakes his head, resting his hands on his hip as he stands on the bedside, looking down to give Sarah a sweet smile before looking back up at her.

“You told me not to tell her,” he says with a shrug. “And I thought it’d be better if she heard it from her sister herself.”

Sharon hums and nods, and Sam looks at them almost confusedly. “Why? Did something happen?” he asks. “Everything alright with Nat and Lena?” he asks, and Steve chuckles and nods.

“Yeah, everything’s alright, I guess,” Steve says, looking over at Sharon who looks up at Sam and gives him a smile and a fond shake of her head. “Though I think that phone call’s just gonna be a little  _ longer _ than usual, and she’ll be in it for a surprise.”

Sam furrows his eyebrows in confusion at Sharon who chuckles. “When I got the valve in UCLA, I found out Yelena was part of the team harvesting the organs from the donor,” she says, and Sam’s eyes widen in surprise as Sharon nods. “She got assigned to assist in the transfer for Sarah’s valve, so we got to work and talk together for a bit. I told Steve this right after I got back, but...well.” Sharon’s eyes flicker over to Sarah, as Sam nods understandingly. “I told him to keep it a secret, at least until the dust settles.”

“So is it?” Steve asks softly, as Sharon opens Sarah’s chart and starts noting the vitals, and Sam proceeds on tinkling with the pacemaker. Sarah’s eyes are closed now, though she tries her best to keep herself awake. Steve smiles and takes his daughter’s hand in his, giving it a light squeeze as Sarah hums and smiles sleepily at her father. “Is the dust finally settled? Everything seems to be going well, o-or at least it’s what I see in the heart monitor and the pacemaker.”

Sharon nods. “Well, the critical part is  _ definitely _ over,” she says affirmatively. “And I guess it’s really safe to say that from here onwards, she should be recovering just fine. No more possible reasons I can see as to why she’d need to be back, or why her heart would still have problems.” She closes her charts and faces Steve. “And as for the pacemaker, I suggest we let it stay for until tomorrow at the very least, just so we can make sure. Wilson will order an ECG test maybe this afternoon to confirm, but from what I see now, she should be pacemaker-free by tomorrow.” She looks at Sam who nods.

Steve exhales a relieved breath and he takes a seat on the chair beside Sarah’s bed. The toddler yawns and opens her eyes to meet her father’s. “Daddy, I be okay?” she asks in a small voice and Steve nods, pressing a kiss on Sarah’s hand as he rests a free hand on her forehead.

“Yeah, baby, you’re gonna be okay,” Steve says softly, and Sarah smiles, looking up at her Auntie Sharon as she smiles at her and nods. “You were really strong in there, you know? Really strong and really brave.”

Sarah giggles softly and she scrunches her nose. “We go Disneyland after?” she asks, and the question has both Sharon and Sam laughing as Steve chuckles softly and nods at his daughter.

“We will,” Steve responds softly, brushing Sarah’s soft hair as the toddler squeals softly and he laughs softly. “After you get better and we get outta here, we’ll go straight to Disneyland. D’you like that?” she asks, and the toddler nods as she lets out a small yawn, and Steve smiles. “You’re still gonna be a little bit sleepy, but it’ll be okay.”

Sarah furrows her eyebrows and whimpers. “Don’t wanna be sleepy.” she mutters and Steve chuckles softly. He looks up at both Sam and Sharon who nod at each other before turning to Steve.

“We’ll be back later for the ECG test. For now, we’ll just allow you guys to...catch up, I guess,” Sharon says with a smile and Steve nods gratefully at them. “Make sure to feed Sarah some proper and solid food too. We might get the test after lunch, so that’ll be enough time.”

Steve nods again. “Okay. We won’t forget,” he says softly, and the two doctors nod as Steve gives Sarah’s hand a squeeze, and the toddler’s eyes flicker over between her father and the two doctors. “Thank you, to both of you. I’ll say my thanks to Thor too once I see him.”

Sharon nods, and Sam steps to stand beside Sharon as he nods over to her. “We’ll be back later.” she says, and she looks over at Sarah as she gives the toddler a small smile. The two doctors wave goodbye at the toddler as Sarah says a goodbye to her Auntie Sharon and Uncle Sam. She stretches, and then looks over at her father then at the door to her PICU room.

“Where Mommy?” Sarah asks softly, and Steve fixes the wires of the pacemaker connected to Sarah’s chest.

“Mommy is on a call with Auntie Lena,” Steve responds gently with a smile. “She’ll be back real soon.” He presses another kiss on Sarah’s forehead. “You hungry, baby? I bought some bread for my and Mommy’s breakfast this morning.”

Steve gets up to retrieve a slice of banana bread from the table, something he knows Sarah likes, and puts it on a small plate he borrowed from the hospital cafeteria. Sarah hums and smiles when she sees what Steve has on the plate. “Want me to adjust the bed?” he asks, and the toddler nods as Steve moves to incline the bed higher, making Sarah somehow sit almost upright, and he gets back on his seat.

Steve feeds her the slice of banana bread, all while he tells her about the operation she just had, just because Sarah had asked him what they did to her, and why they had to “make her into a robot”, asking about the external pacemaker she has connected to her. Steve does his best to simplify the complications in her condition and surgery, tries to explain to the best of his abilities what went wrong that led to them not being able to restart her heart properly and thus the need for a pacemaker. Sarah asks questions, of course, even after finishing her second slice of bread and her third glass of water, and Steve patiently and gently answers all of these.

It seems to have worked, and Sarah seems to have understood it, because once Steve is done explaining how the pacemaker works, and how it works to make her condition better, she simply hums and nods understandingly, leaning back in her pillow as Steve settles on the seat beside her after washing her plate. Steve smiles and brushes his fingers gently through her hair, and the toddler sighs and smiles up at Steve with a small smile.

“Daddy?” she asks, and Steve hums in acknowledgment. He watches her scrunch her nose in contemplation, quirking her mouth to the side as if she’s doing her best to think of how she can formulate her question using words, perhaps in spite of the drugs flowing through her veins that make her woozy. “Daddy, why...why heart always sick?” she asks in a small voice, frowning slightly as she tilts her head to the side. “Why always...something wrong with heart?” she asks.

Why  _ is _ there something wrong with her heart? Why has there  _ always _ been something wrong?

It’s genetics. It’s the simplest answer Steve can formulate, one that he knows to be true for Sarah’s case. Her heart is just made to be that way—deficient and weak, one that always needs to be fixed and tweaked little by little by doctors like him. It’s not her fault, nor is it Natasha’s. It’s just how genetics work, how parentage and lineage works. His mother had suffered from it when she had been a child, and though it had not been the cause of her death, she had still suffered from it multiple times in her life.  _ It’s passed on, _ he thinks.  _ Cardiovascular diseases are just part of their DNA. _

Either way, it’s really nobody’s fault, though he thinks he has to keep an open mind about gene mapping, especially from Natasha and  _ her _ side of the family, so as to better watch out for his family’s safety and health.

Steve shakes his head and sighs. “Just needs a little bit of fixing, that’s all,” he responds gently, giving her a small smile. “Sometimes, hearts that need a little bit of fixing runs in the family, you know? Like us. My Ma used to have the same thing too when she was little.”

Sarah hums and tilts her head to the side. “You no need to fix heart?” she asks, and Steve shakes his head, his smile widening.

“Mine is okay, baby, so is Mommy’s,” he responds softly, and Sarah smiles at him. “But ‘s why I fix hearts, you know? Because I know my family might need to have their hearts fixed, which is why I became a doctor.” Steve smiles. “So I can know what to do should there needs to be some fixing.” Sarah nods understandingly and hums.

“Daddy you no go study ‘nymore?” she asks, and Steve blinks for a moment to better understand and comprehend her question. “You no...no go away to study hearts? Away from...from me and Mommy?” Steve takes a few more moments, taking in every bit of her word, trying to form it properly into a sentence…

_ Oh. _ Oh.

_ Are you not going to study anymore?, _ she asks, because it’s what he told her he had done when she asked him the first time why he hadn’t been there during her first surgery.  _ You won’t go away to study hearts anymore, away from me and Mommy?, _ she asks, because it’s what he told her he had done, and it’s what he told her where he had been when he had been absent from their lives since the day she was born.

His heart aches at that. At the fact that he had lied to her about the reason he’d been absent, and about the fact that she still felt the need to ask it, as if any time now he could just up and leave, as if any day now she would just wake up and find him gone, as if any day now, their fantasy as a family could come to an end, and it would be back to just her and Natasha, and him being somewhere else other than with them.

It makes his heart constrict and his chest tighten. He licks his lips and ducks his head, swallowing down the lump in his throat as he feels the corners of his eyes stinging, and filling with tears.

She’s too young to be told of the truth, still too young to understand things about leaving and being left, heartbreak and love that he had let go of to pursue a lost life somewhere else. She’s too young to experience and listen to some hard truths about where he’d been and what he had done, but he keeps it in his mind to tell her the truth perhaps later in her life, just because he thinks he owes her that much of the truth about his absence.

So he simply shakes his head, and gives her a small smile as he takes her small hand in his. “No, I’m not,” he says softly, pressing a kiss on her hand. “Daddy’s not gonna leave anymore, you see. D’you wanna know why?” he asks gently, and Sarah nods her head. “‘Cause you, me, and Mommy, we’re gonna be family, and families don’t leave each other behind.”

Sarah perks in her bed as she smiles widely. “Like Lilo and Stitch!” she exclaims. “Ohana! Nobody left behind!” Steve chuckles softly and nods.

“Nobody gets left behind,” he repeats softly, and Sarah beams at her as he gives her hand a light squeeze. He uses a free hand to brush off some of the hair on her forehead, and he smiles down at her. “And I am never going to miss a day with you and Mommy anymore, not  _ one _ single day.”  _ Unlike before. Unlike how he had missed two years of her life since the day she was born. _ “I’ll be there  _ all _ the time, okay? When you get hurt or scrape your knee, when you can’t find your crayon, when you want more of those banana bread.” He pokes the tip of her nose lightly with his index finger and she giggles. “And then you call me, you call Daddy, I’ll be here because I’m  _ always _ gonna show up from now on. For you and Mommy, I will always show up.”

Sarah smiles widely. “Always?” she asks, and Steve chuckles as he nods.

“Always.” he responds softly, and Sarah hums.

“Even when...when I say, ‘Daddy, want ice cream!’?” she asks lightly with a wide smile and Steve laughs loudly, his head thrown back as he feels his heart practically leaping inside his chest.  _ Oh, _ his little girl definitely  _ has _ her mother’s humor, and he absolutely  _ loves _ every bit of it.

“Even when you call me just to say ‘Daddy, I want ice cream’,” he says with a nod and a huge smile, and Sarah giggles softly. “I’ll  _ always _ be here. Mommy and I will always be here, okay?”

Sarah hums and nods. “Okay.” she responds softly with a smile and a nod.

Natasha comes back in mere moments after that, and she starts rambling about finding out about Yelena being a nurse in UCLA, how she is both perplexed yet proud, how she is both slightly hurt yet also overjoyed that her “business” isn’t as shady as she feared it to be. Steve watches as Sarah giggle at her mother’s antics, how she would sometimes unconsciously switch into fast Russian, something which Steve knows to be a quirk she does when she’s wildly annoyed (which sometimes scares him, but it’s hard to be scared when you have a giggling toddler beside you, who also helps in subsiding her annoyance). She begins to tell him about how Sharon’s presence in UCLA had been the one that prompted her to come forward and tell her, all because she wanted to hear it from her about Sarah’s condition.

“She called it  _ trading secrets, _ Steve.  _ Trading secrets, _ like this whole ordeal is just fishy business to her.” she had ranted, even as Sarah still continues to giggle, and Natasha has to sigh several times to wipe off the growing smile on her face, having been infected by the toddler’s unusual joy.

“Well, you  _ did _ keep Sarah’s condition away from her, you know, so it’s kind of a tie in here.” he had responded, and it earned him a hard momentary glare after a playful swat on his arm. He gave her back a kiss on the cheek which subsided her annoyance.

The rest of the day goes by smoothly too, especially when the ECG results show that Sarah can have her pacemaker removed by the following day, as everything seems to be going well in her recovery. The two parents thank Thor as well for his work and for his patience, for being part of Sarah's case and for doing his best.

“It’s the job,” he says with a shrug, and he gives them both a wide smile. “But it’s a pleasure to be chosen to work with your little girl. She is indeed a precious one.”

Sarah passes out quite earlier than her usual bedtime, mostly because of the administered drug and of the events of the day, and both Steve and Natasha tuck her in that evening. “She got tired. She got a lot of visitors today.” Natasha says, her hand resting on her daughter’s chest, one that’s rising and falling normally as she breathes, and Steve hums, resting a hand on the small of Natasha’s back as he watches their daughter with a smile.

“Think she mostly got tired from chatting the day away with Danielle,” Steve says with a light chuckle as Natasha laughs softly and nods in agreement. “I’m glad Jones and Cage brought her in for a visit. It really made her happy.”

They’re not at all close with the couple, but Natasha keeps it in mind to make an effort to  _ be _ close to them especially right after this visit, right after their little girl made  _ their _ little girl happy. “It really did. I think we should invite them for brunch at our place, though, you know,” Natasha says, turning her head to meet Steve’s gaze. “Just so we can get to know our daughter’s best friend’s parents. It’ll be good.”

Steve hums and nods in agreement. “If our schedules agree, why not?” he responds, and Natasha smiles widely. “We’ll arrange a brunch playdate, for the girls too.”

“Yeah,” she says with a nod, her smile widening as she lets out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, I like that.”

If somebody last year had told her that she and Steve would be making plans for brunches and playdates alongside their daughter’s best friend’s parents, she would’ve laughed and shrugged it off too, dismissed it to be something so absurd and unrealistic, something that would never happen at all. Everything about it seemed to be absurd before—the normalcy and the domesticity, of the idea of brunches and playdates, of arranging all of it in  _ their _ home. But now it seems so...normal. It seems right, too, especially now that her family is whole again.

_ A whole family, _ she thinks. A future with her family,  _ her _ family—her, Steve and Sarah.

Sometimes, Natasha would find herself wishing that her entire life is just one whole fever dream.

It’s almost unbelievably eventful, as if she could never catch a break to even breathe properly by herself. Sometimes, though, she would find herself, in a strange and rare moment, where the dust has finally settled and where she could be happy. She would find herself in calm waves and still oceans, and she would take the time to be grateful for it. She would be thankful for that kind of grace, and she would always make sure to cherish it —the happiness, the grace and the stillness that have always been rare in her life, that have always been oddly absent most of the time before, but is now ever-present, feeling as if like it would last for eternity.

And she thinks, this time, that it actually will.

She’s always believed her bad luck never runs out, that some way and somehow, she would always find herself plunged right back in the storm with nowhere and nobody to hold on to.  _ But, _ she thinks, as she looks at Steve’s ocean blue eyes, and Sarah’s peaceful and sleeping form,  _ what matters is the present, what matters is the now. _

The storms and the hurricanes would come, but right now, she is in calm waves and still oceans. She is with Steve, and she is with Sarah. They’re going to have a future together, all of them, and she focuses on that. She focuses on the  _ present, _ on today.

She lifts a hand to cup Steve’s face, bringing him in to press a long and soft kiss on his lips. She feels him wrapping an arm around her tightly, pulling her further in as he kisses her back. She pulls away and meets his gaze, a dazzling and beautiful smile on her face as she looks at him. “I love you.” she whispers, and Steve smiles widely as he presses another soft kiss on her lips, one that already tells her what he feels and what she wants to hear.

Nevertheless, he pulls away, and with a wide and beautiful smile on his face, he whispers back, “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i realized that i haven't really replied to everyone's comments as of late, but i'd just wanna say thank you! especially to those who've supported this work until the end. i super appreciate each and every one of you <333
> 
> the next one's gonna be the last chapter (which i might make into two parts, kind of like a two-part epilogue; still thinking about it. what do you guys think?) so i hope you stay tuned! also, i have a new au work posted around a week ago or so called "what if?" so i hope you guys check it out too!
> 
> reviews and kudos appreciated!


	22. Sunsets and Sunrises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW I AM SO EMOTIONAL ! tbh if you would see me rn just uploading this last chapter i am in near tears bcos damn what a journey indeed! i hope you enjoy this chapter, and hope you can take the time to read my final note in the end!
> 
> and for the last time in romanoff's anatomy, reviews and kudos appreciated! enjoy!

“Mommy, wakey.”

Natasha’s lips turn upward into a small smile when she hears that soft and melodious voice whisper in her ear. She wrinkles her nose when she feels a small hand tap her on the cheek, a small giggle following after. Then she feels the mattress of the bed dip, and when she opens her eyes, meets the gaze of a pair of beautiful blue eyes smiling down at her. She hums, pulling Sarah closer to her as the toddler laughs, making _no_ attempt at all to escape her mother’s embrace as Steve smiles and leans down to press a kiss on her lips.

This is the _best_ thing she can ever wake up to.

“Hope you don’t mind the early wake-up call,” Steve murmurs against her mouth, lifting one hand to brush away some hair on her face as she smiles up at him. “We need to make sure every penny we’ve spent on this holiday is _definitely_ well-spent.” Natasha laughs softly as she hums, smirking up at him and brushing her hand up and down Sarah’s back.

“Is today Animal Kingdom day?” she asks, looking back at their daughter as Sarah’s face lights up and nods enthusiastically.

“Yes, yes, yes!” she responds, sitting up on the bed and nearly bouncing in excitement and anticipation and both parents laugh as Sarah cheers and claps her hands. “Gonna see Simba and Lion King today!”

Steve chuckles and nods, dropping a quick kiss on Sarah’s head. “Which is why Mommy should _really_ start getting up now,” she says, and Natasha laughs, giving him a light and playful smack on his chest as she stretches and sits up on the bed. “That’s so we can explore everything we can today just like yesterday.”

Natasha grins. They’ve been in Disneyworld since yesterday, as part of the package the two of them had bought for Sarah’s fourth birthday. And _yes,_ they’ve only brought Sarah to Disneyworld on her _fourth_ birthday (a complete year after she first asked) due to the recovery process of her surgery and...well, _many_ other factors. Just a week after Sarah had gotten discharged from the hospital (which was a full six-week recovery process), Steve had surprised both of them by buying a new (and definitely better-looking) apartment for the three of them. The new apartment unit has been one of Natasha’s “dream” homes, but forced herself to _not_ want it as much due to the _very_ intimidating price range the broker was offering to them.

But apparently, Steve had managed to strike up a deal with the broker (using “his charms and charisma”, as he said), significantly decreasing the price on the apartment, enabling Steve to buy the beautiful and furnished dream home for him, Sarah and Natasha. He also refused to tell him initially where the money came from, and later confessed how he’d spent almost all of the money his mother had left for him to buy the apartment.

“‘Sides, it’s not like the move sent my mother rolling in her grave right now. She _specifically_ told me to use the money to buy a house for myself and my family, and that’s exactly what I did,” he told her. “I think it's pretty worth it, don’t you think?”

The long, languid kiss she gave him, plus the first night they spent in their new home gave him all the answers she wanted to tell him.

Thus, the need to push Disneyland (or at least in _their_ case, Disneyworld) to a later date, to which Sarah is fine with, of course, especially since her mind had been preoccupied when she finally started preschool in August. Natasha had decided to give their trip a go as a surprise for the little girl’s fourth birthday, to which Steve agreed, as it will give them more time to save up and search for good deals and discounts for passes.

And it would give him more time for another surprise of _his_ own up on his sleeve, and he’s _very,_ very excited for this one.

Natasha then proceeds to the shower while Steve helps Sarah dress up and get ready, and eventually, they proceed for breakfast and onto the theme park. It’s a routine they’ve done the previous day, and a routine they’ll be following until they’ve used up their passes on all the theme parks in Disneyworld. Both Steve and Natasha cherish every moment spent in Disneyworld, including their downtimes where they would go back to the resort they’ve checked in and just lounge around the pool for a night swim and drinks (for the two of them). They’ve rode on the kid-friendly rides, bought stuffed toys, shirts and Mickey Mouse ears (which is the _only_ request Sarah had ever asked, and everything else had simply been a bonus) and of course, took _lots_ of pictures that Natasha had told Steve over and over again she would print so they can frame it and hang it on the walls of their new apartment.

A new apartment with family pictures lined on the walls. It’s the _only_ dream that matters to Natasha, and she couldn’t contain her excitement at how she’s finally seeing it through. Although they have had family photos taken, some of which Natasha already had printed, framed and hung on the walls, she figures with the amount of space their spacious new home has to offer, few photos are simply not enough.

“You say that like we won’t have any more photos in the future, sweetheart,” Steve told her one evening before they went to sleep, when the two of them were scanning the photos they’ve had of their day in Epcot, their second to the last theme park on their third day. He kissed her head and she hummed, smiling as she continued nonetheless to scroll through their photos of the day. “Pick the _best_ ones, alright? We had plenty in Hollywood Studios and Animal Kingdom already.”

“I’ll try,” she teased, and Steve chuckled, tapping on a photo of Natasha and Sarah looking at the aquarium in the Nemo and Friends Pavilion in Epcot. Natasha grinned widely. “See, it’s difficult when literally all of them are the _best_ ones.”

“Oh, _this_ we’ll definitely frame.” Steve said, tapping to save the photo in a specific album Natasha had created in her phone, those she planned to have printed and framed. Natasha smiled and turned to him as she pressed a kiss on his lips and then proceeded back to scanning their photos.

The family goes back, of course, on their last day of Disneyworld, where Sarah took her time in flying kisses all over the room, announcing that she’ll be back soon as she looks at both of her parents slyly, and both parents laugh, Natasha raising an eyebrow at Steve who merely shrugs and smiles as he carries their four-year-old before they could even miss their flight. “We’ll come back _really,_ really soon, little miss,” Steve told her while they were on the plane, and Sarah had asked when they could come back to Disneyworld. “Or if we ever will, maybe we’ll go check out Disneyland in California.”

“Is that different?” Sarah asks, and Natasha hums, and smiles widely.

“A little different,” she responds. “There will be no more swimming pools and beaches like the ones we went to. But maybe when we go there, we can drop by Auntie Lena’s place to say hi first.” she says with a wink and Sarah gasps, her eyes and smile widening pleasantly.

“Auntie Lena go with us!” she exclaims, and both parents laugh.

“But that will be _very_ soon, sweetie.” Steve says, ruffling Sarah’s hair as the toddler giggles. He holds his tongue before he could continue about them coming back to Disneyland with a newer addition to the family, but he figures it’s a discussion for another time.

Besides, he has yet to unveil _another_ surprise up on his sleeve, one he was supposed to unveil when they were on one of the beaches in Florida during sunset, but figures against it when he comes up with a better idea, and when, of course, he was able to contact and gather resources for it.

And so the following day, they go to work after they drop off Sarah to preschool, promising that Natasha will come back to fetch her so she can resume her day in daycare with her friends. They go through their normal morning routine—a healthy amount of rounds for their patients, the both of them overseeing surgeries of their respective residents and interns, and now for _both_ of them, teaching their respective scheduled lectures, all done before lunchtime. Steve’s class lasted longer than Natasha’s, and so as soon as his lecture finished, he is able to go straight to the cafeteria to have lunch with his girls.

His heart beats fast against his chest, and he takes a shaky breath as he tries to calm his nerves and get rid of the anxiety. He smiles, especially when he tucks his hands in his pockets and feels the surprise in the form of a small velvet box in his coat pocket.

And so after having lunch with Sarah, and dropping her off to daycare, Natasha is called in by Wanda for a consult. “Have to go check this out,” she tells Steve as she tucks her phone back in her coat pocket, and he hums and nods. “Hopefully it won’t be a _super_ long one, won’t require surgery and all that.” Steve chuckles, pressing the button to the elevator and allowing her to step in first.

“Since when does Doctor Romanoff say _no_ to a call for surgery?” he asks with a raised eyebrow, and she chuckles and shakes her head, smiling as he leans down to press a soft kiss on her lips.

“Since you keep on doing _that,_ Doctor Rogers,” she says, and the elevator doors open to the pediatric floor where her consult is. Steve chuckles and shrugs, pressing another quick kiss on her mouth before she steps out. “I’ll see you later.” she says, and Steve smiles widely.

“See you later.” he responds softly, and Natasha smiles, watching as the doors close, and she turns to walk over and find Wanda. She spots her writing on records by the nurses’ station, and so she walks over to her resident.

“You paged me?” she asks, and Wanda looks up from her records, smiling widely when she sees her attending.

“Yeah, just a sec, let me finish this thing,” Wanda says, and Natasha hums as she tucks her hands in her pockets. Wanda closes the records and submits it to the nurse. She looks back at Natasha and nods. “Sorry, the consult’s in the pit.”

Natasha chuckles and shakes her head. “It’s fine. What is it this time?” she asks, following as Wanda leads them to the elevators, pressing a button down as she faces her attending.

“I don’t know much details, since Doctor Morse just told me to page you,” she says with a shrug, and Natasha furrows her eyebrows. “I know. I told her she could’ve just paged you directly but when I told her that she hasn’t responded and so I decided to just page you instead. I’m not sure if she’s paged you directly or something?”

“No, she hasn’t,” Natasha responds, stepping inside the elevator as Wanda pushes the button down to the emergency floor. “She didn’t tell you what it was either?” Wanda shakes her head.

“Though d’you think it’s safe to assume she’s already got it, since she hasn’t followed up on either of us?” she asks, and Natasha sighs and nods, somehow considering the idea. “It might’ve been a _really_ urgent one, and a simple one enough for her or a resident, or another neuro attending to take?”

“I mean I certainly hope so,” Natasha says, looking up as the doors open to the emergency room. Wanda lets Natasha step out first before her, and she follows her attending to the emergency room. Natasha stops in front of the nurses’ station. “Have you seen Morse? They called in a neuro consult?”

“I’m Morse,” Bobbi says, phone in her hand as she looks over at Wanda and nods over at her. “I need a resident so I called in Maximoff, swapped her for an intern.” she says, and Natasha huffs out a breath.

“So you didn’t need an attending neuro consult?” she asks, and Wanda smiles sheepishly over at Natasha as Bobbi shakes her head.

“I need hands, and it’s unfortunately _not_ a neuro emergency, though I think Stark needs a consult in the burn unit? Something about neurological damage before he can do some fixing on the face.” Bobbi says, and Natasha sighs. _Why can’t these attendings just page her directly instead?_

“Is he busy enough to _not_ call me directly for a consult?” she asks, and Bobbi gives her a small sheepish smile and a shrug. “You page me if there’s any neuro emergency I can do.”

“You got it.” Bobbi says with a wave as Natasha walks down to the pit, turning a corner where the hallway to the burn unit is. She enters the room, and once again asks one of the nurses for Tony. She is quickly redirected, and Natasha finds herself in one of the units with Tony checking on a patient.

“Morse said you might need a neuro consult?” she asks, and Tony looks up at her and furrows his eyebrows, and Natasha is about to huff a breath in frustration before Tony’s eyes widen as he stands from his seat beside a patient.

“Yeah, I need you to look at some stuff for me,” he says, and Natasha lets out a soft sigh of relief at _finally_ something that’s _not_ a mistake. She follows Tony out of the patient unit and to the front desk, as he asks the nurse for an envelope of scans. “Some stuff for the patient I had inside, though I think you might wanna check this out outside of the unit since we’re gonna have another incoming.”

Natasha winces as she retrieves the envelope. “Not to sound degrading or anything, but I’m glad I never got into plastics all that much.” she says, and Tony laughs heartily and shakes his head.

“The burn unit’s definitely not for the faint of heart,” he says, and Natasha hums in agreement as Tony nods over at him. “Give me a call once you’ve seen it and interpreted it or something? So I’ll know if it’s a go?” he asks, and Natasha nods.

“I’m sure I’ll be given more context with these scans?” she asks, and Tony grins and nods, as Natasha chuckles and saunters off the burn unit. Tony shouts about how Natasha is the best, and she simply dismisses him with a laugh and a wave before exiting the room and off to the elevators. She goes back to the surgical room to look into the scans properly, and yet again, she hopes that this isn’t another false alarm nor is it going to be a long surgery she might be involved in.

When she turns the light on to take a proper look at the scans, she lets out a groan of disbelief, throwing her head back and resting her hands on her hips when she sees that the scans aren’t at all _brain_ scans.

“Damn it, Tony.” she mutters, pulling her phone out as she starts to dial his number. She presses her phone to her ear, muttering frustratedly about yet again _another_ mistake, another false alarm, when she could just take this afternoon to a time off so she can complete her paperwork and patient records. She bites at her bottom lip, and continues to stare in disbelief at the various echocardiograms and MRI results for _hearts._ And of course, she knows what it looks like. She’s worked under cardio service for _years,_ has basically worked with Steve for _years_ prior to his departure and eventual shift in neuro.

She redials when Tony hasn’t answered, and albeit her mood and emotions, she takes the time to take a good look at these scans, because what _else_ can she do apart from marching straight right in into a burn unit with a possibly new _burn_ patient may come in at any time. She narrows her eyes, especially upon realizing that the echocardiogram shows a different diagnosis, a different deficiency than the MRI scan, _each_ scan showing a different heart condition, none of which is actually related to the other.

She eventually hangs up when Tony hasn’t answered the second time, tucking her phone back inside as she inspects the scans carefully. There are five scans displayed right in front of her, each of which shows a different heart condition, but all of which is very much familiar with, as she has worked on them already, studied about them and operated on them.

She’s operated on _all_ of them with Steve.

“Hey.” Natasha turns her head at the soft and gentle voice, and she smiles widely when she sees Steve standing by the doorway of the test room. He walks right over to her, eyes solely focused on her as he presses a soft kiss on her lips before turning his attention to the scans in front of them. Natasha hums as Steve pulls her close by her waist, leaning her head on his chest.

“Tony gave these scans to me by mistake, I think,” she says with a light chuckle as she shakes her head, as Steve smiles and presses a kiss on top of her head. “And it doesn’t at _all_ even make sense because I’m a _neurosurgeon._ You know, a _brain_ surgeon. Instead he gave me heart scans which aren’t at all related to what I think he’d want to consult me with.”

Steve smiles, and he turns his attention back to the scans as he shakes his head. “It’s not a mistake.” he says, and Natasha furrows her eyebrows and chuckles as she shakes her head and looks up at him.

 _“Brain_ surgeon, love?” she says teasingly, and Steve chuckles as he shakes his head while Natasha laughs. “If this is a test, though, I think I can gladly point out each and every one of these easily.”

Steve hums and smiles, pulling away from her slightly as he takes a step back to get a better look of the scans, smile not leaving his face as he looks at the five scans in front of them. “Let me help you with that, then.” he says, and Natasha smiles as she takes a step back as well beside Steve.

Steve points to the first echocardiogram on the left. “This is an amyloid heart disease in a fifty-five-year old male patient,” he starts saying, and Natasha smiles and nods. “His name was...well, _is,_ Stephen Pillsburry, and he has a wife and two kids—both of them teenage girls.” His smile widens. “It was the first time we worked together, that day I finally knew your name after meeting you at Tony’s party. You were assigned to be under my service, and this is the first surgery we’ve worked together on. I remember teaching you to see patients as humans, especially when you asked me why I took such a _long_ time getting to know his wife and kids, teased me, even, about hitting on the wife.” Natasha laughs heartily and shakes her head fondly at the memory as Steve chuckles. “When we got in that O.R., I knew right away what you were capable of, what the extent of your talent is. I knew right away you were gonna be one of the best and brightest, and since then, I was never proven wrong.”

Natasha smiles widely at that, watching as Steve proceeds to point at the second ECG scan beside it. “This is a cardiac myxoma in a thirty-eight-year-old male patient,” he continues, and Natasha grins, chuckling softly as she looks carefully at the scan. “Randy Marquez, who’s still taking care of his mom, sister, two nieces and one nephew. He’s still kind of the head of the family, but he’d gotten sick so the sister took over, barely covered the bills but the hospital was kind enough to offer a few pro-bono procedures for him.” Natasha hums and nods. “We nearly lost him, after a complication and a hemorrhage, and the number of times he flatlined, but your swift and steady hands and quick thinking saved him. You’ve always said you’ve learned from the best, that you learned from me at that point, but I just thought all of it was you—that all of it that happened inside that O.R. was borne out of your pure talent and gift.” Natasha laughs softly, feeling her eyes filling with tears as she feels her heart leaping inside her chest. Steve smiles softly. “I kissed you in the scrub room after that, but it was a long overdue kiss, anyway. I knew right away that I loved you, Nat, and that you’ve caught my heart and never let go of it. You haven’t let go until now.”

Natasha chuckles and shrugs, as Steve laughs softly, before proceeding to point to an MRI scan. “Hypoplastic left heart syndrome, or HLHS, in a three-year-old female patient,” he continues softly, and Natasha nods, looking over at the scans, aching, still, at the familiarity of it. “Gabby Byers, who had a mother, whom you have been magnificent with during their stay here, accompanying her when nobody else could, talking to her when nobody else would.” Steve looks back at the scans and sighs. “It was the first surgery we’ve had when I came back, and it...really wasn’t the perfect surgery, including its aftermath, both on the patient and on us. The surgery hit you close to home, and I only knew about it soon after, and even then I still hurt you.” Natasha rubs her lips together, nodding as she remembers it. She remembers it all, of course, the ups and downs of their story, most especially _this_ particular down when it led to his discovery of Sarah’s existence.

“I thought I’d...lost you, in the entirety of her treatment, I thought I really did, lost you forever. But you were kind, and you were...you were forgiving, you were amazing and you were loving.” Natasha looks up at him, lifting a hand to cup his cheek as he rests a hand on top of hers, turning his face to press a kiss on her palm as she smiles up at him with glassy eyes. “We were never perfect, the both of us, both in our track records as surgeons and our track record with our relationship, and we weren’t able to bring back how we were before, but I’d like to think now we’re on the best possible version of our relationship, and our love.” Natasha nods in agreement as Steve smiles at her. “That’s when I knew I needed you, and I needed Sarah, and that’s when I really told myself I will do _absolutely_ anything to protect the both of you, and love you with all I can.”

Natasha nods. “You did,” she whispers, and Steve chuckles softly as he presses another kiss on her hand. “You still _do.”_ she adds, and Steve nods as he smiles.

“I still do.” he says softly. He leans down to press a kiss on her lips and on the tip of her nose before he turns back at the scans as Natasha smiles and looks back at them as well, as Steve points to an ECG scan.

“This one is a Wolff-Parkisons-White syndrome, simply WPW, in a sixty-eight-year-old female Alzheimer’s patient, whose name is Christina Palmer, husband to Harold, an equally sweet and pleasant old man,” Steve says, and Natasha laughs softly as she nods, remembering the man and the conversation that followed afterwards. “We didn’t exactly operate on this together, but you were there in the room, even complained about how boring an ablation in an EP lab is.” Natasha chuckles, hitting him lightly on his chest as he laughs softly. “It went by smoothly, of course, and after that Harold mistook us for a married couple, told us if we had children, they’d be beautiful ones. It’s when you said out loud that we _have_ one, a beautiful little girl.”

He pauses, giving her a soft smile. “I had a spark of hope at that time, one that ignited into an inexplicable amount of happiness and hope especially when you allowed me to join in for lunch with you and Sarah. I remember being amazed at your compassion, ability to forgive, ability to love even with such a broken heart at that time. And I remember being so equally amazed at Sarah, meeting her for the first time, and hearing how she called me Daddy for the first time.” Natasha laughs softly and nods. “That’s when I promised myself I wouldn’t hurt you ever again, wouldn’t hurt _either_ of you anymore, and would never leave your side anymore. I remember feeling so overwhelmed, asking myself if it was possible I could love two people so much, yet also feeling undeserving that I should because of what I did. But you continued to show kindness, compassion and forgiveness, and I knew right away I couldn’t take all of those for granted anymore. That’s when I realized I can _never_ live a life again without you.”

Natasha smiles widely, leaning up to press a long kiss on his lips, feeling suddenly so overwhelmed with emotions, because _what_ is he doing? Why is he saying all of this? What is he trying to say? What is the endpoint in all of this?

“And this one,” Steve continues to the final scan, and he smiles widely as he chuckles, looking back to meet Natasha’s gaze once again. “Is a neurocardiac case _all_ the way from Hopkins.” Natasha laughs and nods, remembering Steve’s little birthday gift he had given her—a seemingly impossible and difficult case the two of them had worked on, that of which _really_ came from Carol, but she lets Steve claim it’s from him. “Cerebral embolism, watershed infarction and mets caused by ventricular aneurysm in a thirty-eight-year-old female patient named Mila Watts. It was a _long,_ and nearly impossible procedure, but we managed to pull through. _You_ managed to pull through, because you never freeze in a crisis, Nat. You always manage to think and act, and you _always_ manage to pull through.” Steve smiles. “It’s one of the many things I love about you, one of the many things I admire about you, both as your lover and colleague, how you pull yourself forward, and how you pull _all_ of us forward, knowing there will always be a light at the end of the tunnel, knowing that after the darkness, there is light.”

Steve smiles widely, looking back at the five scans. “Tony missed one,” he says with a light chuckle, and Natasha watches as Steve retrieves an envelope on one of the counters, pulling out a scan and putting it up beside the WPW scan. Natasha takes a step closer to get a better look, and she smiles widely as Steve grins. “Sarah Romanoff-Rogers’ heart used to suffer with Tetralogy of Fallot when she was a year old, and then when she turned three, a valve insufficiency coupled with a first-degree AV block. But now,” Steve points to a healthy-looking heart scan as Natasha chuckles softly. “The now four-year-old’s patient’s heart is block-free and complication-free.”

Natasha hums, unable to keep the smile off of her face as she continues to look at the scan of her healthy baby’s heart. _Block-free and complication-free._ She’s known that for a while now, of course, known that for quite some time but to actually see it? To actually _look_ at evidence on her health and recovery? It overwhelms her with _so_ much love, and so many emotions that all point out to just her being happy and extremely grateful.

“And it’s all because of you. You never left her side, and you always stayed strong for her all throughout that I’m sure it’s where she has gotten all her strength from,” Steve continues gently, and Natasha smiles. “She’s here, and she’s healthy and she survived, _all_ because of you. All because you are strong, you are kind and compassionate, and you are a survivor. You always said how you think your heart has become so hard and numb because of all the things you’ve gone through, but it simply makes you strong. It makes who you are. It makes you _you.”_

Steve smiles as he tucks both of his hands in his coat pockets, his eyes gazing at hers lovingly and gently she swears she could melt anytime soon under his gaze. “I love you, Natasha Romanoff. With everything that I have and with everything that I can. I love you, and I love our family, and I love our home,” he says softly, and Natasha feels the tears already threatening to fill her eyes, her heart hammering inside her chest as she just gazes at his eyes. “And I wanna spend the rest of my life with you. So, I would like to ask…”

Steve kneels down on one knee and pulls out a black velvet box, opening it to reveal a simple but beautiful silver diamond ring. Natasha gasps, one hand flying over her mouth as she laughs softly, tears already spilling from her eyes as Steve smiles up at her. “Nat, will you marry me?” he asks.

And Natasha swears she is in the midpoint between crying and laughing, feeling absurd at the amount of tears flowing from her eyes all while she’s completely gone _speechless_ while the love of her life had just asked her the most important question of her lifetime. She laughs and wipes off the tears from her eyes, nodding and unable to keep the wide smile on her face. “Yes,” she answers, and she laughs as she meets his eyes. “Yes, yes! I will marry you, Steve.” she says giddily and excitedly.

Steve grins, taking her left hand as he removes the ring from the box and slides the ring on her finger. It’s absolutely beautiful, and Natasha lifts her hand to take a closer look at it, before looking back at Steve who stands back up. She laughs and wraps her arms around her neck, while he snakes his arms around her waist.

“I love you,” Steve tells her softly. “I love you so much.” He leans in to press a kiss on her lips as she makes this little sound coming from the back of her throat, smiling widely against his mouth.

“I love you too.” she responds, kissing him back as fervently and passionately as she can.

When they come out of the testing room and back to the lounge, all their friends—including Bobbi and Tony, who claimed to have had “surgeries” and “consults”—are gathered, popping a bottle of champagne and exclaiming their congratulations as soon as Steve and Natasha come in with Natasha showing off her left hand with a ring on her finger. After everyone has had their round of hugs with the couple, the women, of course, gather around Natasha to inspect the ring and gush about upcoming wedding preparations, while the men gather around Steve, with Thor, Clint and Tony teasing him for pre-marriage blues and marriage hardships, while Bucky, Bruce and Sam just snicker and add their own teases about bachelorhood, but Steve figures he wouldn’t miss it as much, if it would force him to imagine a life yet again without Natasha.

That evening, they explain to Sarah, too, about marriage and how they were going to plan a wedding with her involved in it, of course. They explain the _need_ for such ceremony, that of which Sarah is already familiar with, of course, because of Disney movies showcasing weddings and marriage between princes and princesses, that she becomes excited about it, especially when she thought how her Mommy and Daddy are going to get married in Disneyworld in front of the castle.

“No, no, baby. Mommy and I won’t be married in Disneyworld, unfortunately,” Steve says with a soft laugh as Sarah deflates. Natasha chuckles, pressing a kiss on her daughter’s forehead. “But tell you what, how about _you_ would be helping Mommy pick out her gown, alright?” he asks, and Natasha nods, because they’ve talked about this already, and Natasha _did_ figure she would want to wear a gown that’s picked by their daughter. “You will be picking out the colors too, alongside Auntie Lena, Auntie Wanda, Auntie Sharon, Auntie Bobbi and _all_ your other aunties?”

Sarah’s face lights up again. “I get to pick dresses for them too?” she asks, and Natasha laughs softly at that, brushing off some of the hair on her face.

“Yeah, baby. You get to choose _your_ own dress too,” she says, smiling widely as the little girl squeals. “How does that sound?”

“Good! Good!” she answers, and both parents laugh.

They get married on a beautiful May afternoon in Gramercy Terrace, presided by the man who had walked Natasha down the aisle as well, _their_ boss, Nick Fury. Sarah is the proud flower girl, of course, while Yelena is Natasha’s maid-of-honor, Bobbi, Sharon, Pepper, Laura and Wanda being her bridesmaids, and Bucky is Steve’s best man, where Tony, Sam, Clint, Thor and Bruce are his groomsmen.

(Bucky had won a bet over Tony, causing _him_ to be chosen as the best man when the two decided on a bet as they both claimed the title of best man on Steve and Natasha’s wedding. Tony had bet that Natasha will be pregnant for the second time on their wedding day, after overhearing them talking about having _more_ kids one lazy afternoon in the lounge, while Bucky bets otherwise. Natasha had to show her period cycle app on her phone, and tampon-filled locker a week before the wedding to prove Tony wrong.)

It’s a relatively small wedding reception that follows afterwards, with guests around a hundred or so, a combination of both their colleagues and their respective friends from university and medical school, since neither of them don’t really have much family members. After the usual rounds of speeches and dances, the party is over by midnight, the family staying in a complimentary room in the hotel. Sarah passes out easily, being as she’s not at all used to staying up late and _way_ past her bedtime, and the two newlyweds tuck her in her own bed inside the suite, while _they_ took the time to spend every minute of their first night alone as Mr. and Mrs. Rogers (legally on paper, at least, as in research and in work, Natasha insists to still be called Doctor Romanoff, to which Steve agrees) spent and sated, tangled in each other’s bodies on their bed.

“You know,” Natasha says softly, tracing lazy circles on his chest as he hums and pulls her closer, pressing a kiss on the side of her head. “The thing I said, the vow I said on that altar—that wasn’t _all_ that I wanted to say.”

Steve furrows her eyebrows and looks down at her, and she looks up at him as she lets out a soft teasing chuckle, causing his lips to twitch into a small smirk. “What do you mean by that?” he asks lightly, and Natasha laughs.

“I just got intimidated by the long beautiful speech you gave that mine just _literally_ flew out of my head,” she says with a laugh as Steve laughs heartily and she smiles. “I was able to just say _some_ of the things I wanted to say, but not _all_ the things I want.”

Steve hums. “Can I hear it now?” he asks softly, and Natasha grins as she hums and nods. “What did you wanna say?” he asks, pulling her closer towards him as she chuckles softly and rubs her lips together.

“I wanted to say…” she trails off, and she looks up to face Steve, adjusting herself so she is looking right at him and into his beautiful blue eyes. She smiles and lifts a hand to cup his face, thumb brushing against his cheek gently as he smiles right back at her. She feels her heart fluttering, beating fast against her chest. She will never get tired of looking at his eyes, of looking at his smile. She will never get tired of loving him, and of being with him.

She doesn’t think a lifetime will be enough with him, but she also figures that for now, it will be enough. For now, what they have is enough.

“Steve Rogers, you are my best friend, my confidant, and you are the love of my life,” she starts softly, a gentle smile on her face as she runs her fingers through his hair, and Steve smiles widely. “You have given me _many_ of the best gifts I have ever had the pleasure of receiving in my life. You have given me love, you have given me strength, and you have given me life. You have given me Sarah, and you have given me a home.”

She smiles and traces the faint lines on his face gently with the tips of her fingers. “I know...things have become difficult at first, difficult to the point that neither of us are sure if we’d ever get past the point of heartbreak, or even past the point of just...whatever we’ve left off with before. I wasn’t sure if I would ever get past the pain, if my love would be strong enough to surpass all of it, but then I realized that both _our_ love combined...that’s what made it possible for us to get through it.” she continues softly, and his gaze softens, his hand holding hers on his face as he moves it to press kisses on the palm of her hand.

“You always say how I’ve always been so strong for myself, and for Sarah, how all of it was just me. But I want you to know that a huge chunk of that strength is drawn from the love you’ve shown me, even before I thought I was stumbling through trying to forgive, and trying to move on.” She smiles, letting out a soft chuckle when he sees tears filling his eyes as she lifts her other hand to cup his face. “And you’ve always said how you can’t live without me, and how you can’t see life without me. I _can_ live without you, and that I _have_ lived without you, but the thing is, I don’t want to. I _don’t_ ever want to, Steve. I don’t wanna lose you, and I know and I have faith that I won’t. Not in this lifetime, nor in the next.”

Natasha smiles widely as she wipes the spots under his eyes with her thumbs, and Steve chuckles and sniffles, cupping the back of her head to pull her in close for a deep and passionate kiss. She pulls away slightly, their foreheads resting together as her hand rests on his heart. “You will always have my heart, Steve Rogers. And you will always have my love. I love you, Steve,” she says, pressing a kiss on the tip of his nose as she lets out a soft chuckle. “And I guess the rest of what I said earlier follows.”

Steve laughs softly and nods, sniffling before kissing her again. He embraces and pulls her close, kissing her passionately and languidly. “I love you, Nat. I love you so much.” he says against her mouth, flipping her on the bed as he hovers on top of her, pouring all the love he has and everything _else_ he wanted to say to his kisses, touches and movements.

* * *

Natasha smiles as she watches Steve and Sarah running along the shoreline, the six-year-old girl laughing and skipping so gracefully and lightly as she chants for her father to chase and catch her. It’s nearly sunset, and the beach becomes quiet, quieter and calmer than the buzz from earlier, at least. The number of people have subsided, and so have their energies as they prepare to calmly watch the sunset in their respective villas and beach blankets, ready to close the day and settle back into their respective beds, preparing for yet another new day to begin come sunrise after a few more hours.

Normally, little girls who tirelessly build sandcastles all day long, especially those who alternate between splashing on the pool or asking either of her parents to take her to the sea would be tired and wiped. But then again, Natasha thinks, their little Sarah has _never_ been just any other little girl. She’s a ray of sunshine, a bright ball of energy even as she grows older. Now very healthy at six years old, she’s developed a liking for the outdoors, especially the beach, where she loves the sound of the waves crashing along the shore, and the little hermit crabs that climb on her feet, and the small fishes she would see whenever her father would allow her to borrow his goggles. She loves the sand, and is absolutely _obsessed_ with creating sandcastles with her parents.

Well, nowadays, it’s with her parents _and_ her baby brother.

Little James Rogers was born one beautiful February night of that same year, with Steve present and holding Natasha’s hand and Sarah asleep in the attendings’ lounge, being watched over by their Uncle Clint. He’s exactly how he looks in both of his parents’ dreams, inheriting his mother’s fiery red hair and his father’s beautiful blue eyes, a spitting image of him as well. Both parents had fallen in love with him instantly, most especially Sarah, who had been ecstatic and excited the moment she was told she was going to be a big sister.

James also isn’t _exactly_ a honeymoon baby, much to most of their friends’ chagrin. Natasha had found out she was expecting on one ordinary afternoon, upon realizing that her great fatigue and frequent sickness and headaches aligned with the fact that she had missed her period as well. It’s not much of a story either, how and where James was conceived (well, a story _none_ of their friends would want to hear, of course), considering Natasha had found out she was pregnant _months_ after their wedding and honeymoon. Nevertheless, everyone had been happy for the family for the new addition to their family.

He yawns and whimpers in Natasha’s arms, catching her attention and snapping her away from her own thoughts. She smiles down at the small five-month-old baby boy in her arms, who gurgles up at his mother and reaches up for her with his small arms. She laughs softly and leans down to rub her nose against his, and press kisses on her forehead and the tip of his small nose, eliciting a small giggle from him as Natasha hums.

Sarah’s laugh echoes and is heard from the shoreline, and James seems to have heard it too, because he perks up and gurgles in his mother’s arms, babbling and making these cute little sounds as Natasha chuckles softly. “You hear Sarah, little one?” she coos, and James blinks his wide blue eyes as he wiggles his arms and feet and Natasha chuckles. “She’s playing with Daddy along the beach. One day, when you’re old enough you can go running around with them too.”

James gurgles and smiles up at his mother as Natasha feels her heart fluttering inside her chest. “You have Daddy’s eyes, hm? Daddy’s beautiful eyes,” she coos, and James giggles, as if understanding his mother as Natasha chuckles. She leans down to press another kiss on his forehead. “I love you so much, Jamie. Mommy loves you _so_ much.”

When she looks up, she finds Steve, carrying Sarah, walking over towards them. The little girl has a wide and beautiful smile on her face, and she _can_ indeed see how strongly she resembles her, comparing the photos she had when she was around her age. “Mommy!” she exclaims, and Natasha smiles up at both Steve and Sarah, watching as the six-year-old wiggles from her father’s arms to be put down, as she runs towards both her and James. “Is Jamie awake?” she asks.

Upon hearing his sister’s voice, the baby boy gurgles excitedly, wiggling his hands and feet as he turns his head to look at his sister. Sarah grins widely and pokes his little nose gently, eliciting a laugh from the baby as Sarah giggles. “Hello, Jamie,” Sarah says softly, and Natasha smiles widely at the interaction, with Steve sitting beside her as he presses a kiss on her head, a wide smile on his face as he watches their children interact. “Wanna build sandcastles with me, Mommy and Daddy?”

Steve chuckles softly, brushing some of the hair on Sarah’s face before he leans to press a kiss on her head and on James’ forehead. The baby giggles as his eyes look at his father, and Steve hums and presses another kiss on the tip of his nose. “Maybe tomorrow morning, sweetie,” he tells Sarah gently, as the girl hums and nods, smiling widely at her father. “We can build lots of other sandcastles tomorrow morning when we wake up.”

“We can watch the sunrise too if you want,” Natasha says, transferring James to Steve’s arms. He presses a kiss on the baby’s forehead as he holds him upright, and James coos, his legs unstable and wiggling as he rests his feet on Steve’s lap. Natasha smiles and extends her arms over to her daughter, her _forever_ baby, as the six-year-old giggles and sits on her mother’s lap. She’s still small enough to fit in her arms and bury her face in her chest, and Natasha is grateful that even though years have passed and her baby girl is not exactly a _baby_ anymore, she still gets to pretend that she is because of how much she can still fit in her arms, and how light she still is whenever she carries her. “Sunrises are as beautiful as sunsets too, and we get to explore another part of the beach.”

Steve hums and smiles. “That’s true,” he says, and he grins widely over at his wife. _His wife._ He doesn’t think he can _ever_ get over that, even after more than a year of getting married. “Though we have to wake up _really_ early, ladybug. Think we can do that tomorrow?” he asks his daughter teasingly, pressing a quick kiss on the tip of her nose as the girl laughs.

“Carry me to the beach?” she asks, and _oh,_ she definitely has her mother’s humor, alright. Both parents laugh, making James laugh as well as he claps his hands together, and Steve presses kisses all over the baby’s face.

A comfortable silence settles and envelops them, especially when they start to see the sky changing its color into beautiful rich hues of red blended with oranges, purples and crimsons. The family watches as the sun prepares to set, with James settling down on his father’s lap, sitting back comfortably and resting on his chest, while Sarah hums, a small and contented smile on her face as she turns her face to look at the sun, head resting on Natasha’s chest. Steve finds Natasha’s hand and intertwines their fingers together, his thumb brushing on the wedding band on her finger as she smiles, eyes set on the sun as it slowly sinks and disappears in the horizon, its reflection showing on the clear water as if still whole, but in a matter of moments, it will be gone, and will be replaced by a countless amount of stars on the sky.

“I can do this forever,” Steve says softly, and Natasha turns her head to look at her husband, a smile on his face as he looks back at her. “You and the kids, just here on the beach everyday watching the sunset.”

Natasha laughs softly. “We can’t do that _every_ single day, Steve, we have lives to save.” she says, and Steve chuckles as he nods and shrugs.

“I know, I know,” he says softly, and he turns his eyes back on the sunset. “I’m just saying…” he trails off, and Natasha smiles as she nods. She knows. She knows what he means. She leans to press a kiss on his cheeks as he hums, turning his head to press a kiss on her lips, before their eyes look back at the sunset.

People signify sunsets as an end of a day, an end of a journey. For others, it’s how they symbolize finality, the closing of a chapter or an ending of a book or a life story. She sees sunsets as that, too, only that for her, sunsets also signify something she can look forward to, another new journey perhaps, another day and another chapter. Another chance, and another shot at life. It’s a moment for her to hope for sunrise, another start of another day, another journey she has yet to embark on and enjoy.

And with her husband holding her hand, with their kids settled on their chests, she knows that she will _never_ stop looking forward to more sunsets and sunrises for the rest of her life.

* * *

_**THE END** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know what they say—part of the journey is the end. so thanks for everyone who's been there since day one of romanoff's anatomy! i really hope you loved the story very much especially the happy ending. :) thank you to everyone who have been kind enough with their reviews. know that i may have not replied to all comments, i am still grateful for all of it, and for all of you. i never expected this work to be such a hit but akdjhks im just overwhelmed with the number of kudos, comments, bookmarks and tweets dedicated to this work! i love u all and thank u so much!
> 
> for more of my works, visit my profile. i have another work in progress called "what if?", which is another AU, and i hope you guys can check it out! i'll have another update on that by next week!
> 
> once again, thanks everyone! and i hope you all stay safe!


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